


A Rift in the Fabric of Time

by Lady of Spain (ladyofspain7)



Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romance, Supernatural - Freeform, Suspense, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-18 11:51:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 42,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12387513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofspain7/pseuds/Lady%20of%20Spain
Summary: Claire discloses her secret to Jamie, who is skeptical, but willing to test the truth. Determined to do the honorable thing, he takes her to Craigh na dun, to send her back home, but at the last minute changes his mind. Grabbing her hand, he goes through with her. A fish out of water, he faces challenges he never before encountered. 2nd pl winner for fav fanfic 2016 BiT Awards.





	1. Witch Trial

 

 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander                     Banner by LOS/ manip by LOS 

**. . . . .**

I should have known better than to trust anything that Laoghaire told me. After all, Geillis had disclosed that it was Laoghaire that put the awful talisman under my pillow over a fortnight ago. Alas, the bleeding compassion I had for other people’s suffering set aside my mistrust. I paid dearly for that, and it was only by some miracle that Jamie found me before I was doomed to drown, and forced the witch-hunters to release me.

 

If I _was_ a witch, it would’ve behooved me to put a curse on that wicked little blonde. I would have certainly enjoyed doing it as well. Perhaps a case of severe acne or halitosis could settle the score. Oh yes, revenge would certainly have been most sweet.

 

Jamie had brought along another horse for me to ride … away from the superstitious lot. I suppose he thought it would hasten our departure from the inquisitors. Truthfully, I wished he would have hauled me up, to sit in front of him on _Trom_ _Laighe_. To feel his warm body pressed to mine, and his steady heartbeat through his jerkin would have been a source of comfort to me. How close I had come to being drowned or burned at the stake! Even now, miles from the dock, my quaking was uncontrollable. To be sure, I felt the need to be held tightly to prevent my flying apart.

 

I halted _Brimstone_ , and Jamie, just a few paces ahead, looked back to see what happened. I slid off the horse and with the reins in one hand, led my animal through a thicket of trees, and plunked down on the ground. Jamie followed suit, racing toward me.

 

I exhaled loud and long, gesturing for Jamie to come sit with me.

 

Clearly concerned, Jamie’s brow furrowed. “Sassenach, are ye all right?”

 

“Absolutely not. Can you give me just a minute? I can’t seem to stop shaking.”

 

“I ken what yer meanin’ is, as I can truly say as I’m nearly shakin’ wi’ ye as weel. God in heaven, woman; my heart was in my throat, to hear ye’d been taken, and accused o’ witchcraft.”

 

He settled beside me, and with one strong arm hooked around my shoulder, pulled me snugly against his torso.

 

“I asked ye to stay at Leoch, and see what trouble ye brought down on yerself, for no’ obeyin’ me? Now, what possessed ye to be wi’ that woman, when ye ken as she’s a charmer? I expect she had somethin’ to do wi’ killin’ her husband, as weel.”

 

I gazed into those clear blue eyes, and explained, “I would never have done it if it weren’t for that bloody Laoghaire. She told me that Geillis was gravely ill. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t let my friend die when I, alone could possibly save her.”

 

“Stars and stones! And ye believed the lass?”

 

“Well, yes. Why would she lie about something like that?”

 

“Och … why, indeed, but I dinna believe the girl is verra fond o’ ye. She’s a wee bit jealous o’er the fact as ye’re marrit to me.”

 

“That’s an idiotic thing to say. Even if she wished it, she could no more marry you than Angus could marry the Queen of England. Not that he’d want to.”

 

He murmured in my ear. “It wouldha made nay difference to that girl. The shame of it is, I didna want to marry _her_ , bonny or no. I havna a lick of feelin’s for the poor lass. Anaways, I needed a woman no a child.”

 

“I’m sorry I listened to her at any rate.” I hung my head and sighed. “Oh, Scotty, I’m just so tired of running all the time, but I imagine we should mount our horses and be on our way—wherever that is. I’m ready to ride. I feel better now; I think my heart has finally stopped fluttering at least. Thank you. I really needed to have your arms around me for just a little while.”

 

My Scotsman hoisted me to my feet, and drawing me close, gave me a quick kiss. We walked the horses to the road when I asked, “Where _are_ we going anyway?”

 

“D’ye remember the cabin where we stayed for a bit, by the Ballachulish Creek?”

 

“I remember it well; isn’t that where we hid from the _Black_ _Watch?_ ”

 

“Aye, we’ll be hidin’ there for t’night as weel.”

 

**. . . . .**

After Jamie carried in some wood and kindling, he started a fire in the hearth of the lone bedroom. We spread our hides over the dusty mattress, and laid out the blankets, then sat down by the burning logs while Jamie roasted a rabbit he had caught on the way to the cabin. While Jamie was previously occupied with the capture of the animal, I gathered some elderberry drupes and pine nuts. He also had brought along some bannocks with him, safe in his saddlebags so we wouldn’t starve altogether during our return journey to Leoch.

 

Side by side, we ate in silence, the creaking of the cabin beams, howling of the wind and crackling of the fire our only accompaniment. Jamie all the while, stared into the flames, obviously miles away.

 

“A penny for your thoughts.”

 

Turning to me, he asked, “What’s that ye said?”

 

I shrugged and tried to smile although, by all accounts, it was a futile attempt. He wasn’t the only one haunted by thoughts. “It’s just a saying.”

 

“Ah …”

 

Jamie averted his eyes once more, so it was up to me to get the Scottish _tomb_ to open up.

“Out with it, Scotty.”

 

With his voice just above a whisper, he said, “I told ye once, as there were secrets ye could keep from me, but …”

 

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! You don’t actually believe that I’m a witch, do you?”

 

He stirred about the blazing wood pile absently with the iron poker. “I dinna ken _what_ to believe, Sassenach. Ye did weave a spell as bound me to ye, but I’ll no complain ’bout _that_. Leastways, it’s been a long day, and ye must be knackered, so we best lie down and rest for a bit afore we puzzle it out.”

 

**. . . . .**

I fell asleep at once, enveloped in Jamie’s warm embrace. I was awakened hours later by Jamie whispering, “Sassenach, are ye awake?”

 

His hand was roaming beneath my shift, and his nose nuzzling the slope of my shoulder. Nothing short of being dead could make me stay asleep with _that_ going on.

 

“I am now,” I answered. I flipped over onto my other side to face him. “I thought you said you were knackered.”

 

“Nay. If ye listened correctly, I said as _ye_ were knackered, I’m ne’er so knackered as I would give op the opportunity o’ makin’ love to _mo_ _nighean_ _donn_. D’ye mind verra much?”

 

I touched his nose with my index finger. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

 

For some reason, our lovemaking lasted twice as long as usual. I could almost compare it to a last meal by a man on death row. I was clenched in his arms for the longest time afterward, fearful that he would never let go. I wished he would open up and tell me what was on his mind. Maybe I could pry it out of him sometime in the morning.

 

**# # # # #**

Bewildered I was, and I couldna sleep a wink, what wi’ the Sassenach so close to me, her body whisperin’ to mine all the night long, _I want you, Jamie. Take me, take me, please._ And so I did, when the wantin’ got so bad awful as I couldna stand it any longer. I was apt to die for want o’ her.

 

I kent as she would tell me the damned secret as for so long had come betwixt us and was scairt outta my wits, as she would be leavin’ me soon. I was scairt as this night would be the last night to make her mine in our marriage bed. What was the secret, and why could she no tell me? I was her husband. Was it fair to keep it from me?

 

Afore we were marrit, Murtagh said that woman do have their secrets, but this was more than that. I could feel it in my verra bones. Whate’er it was, it would be waitin’ ’til morn, but for right now, I would love her like there was nay tomorrow, for truly, I didna ken if there be a tomorrow with my Claire or no.

 

It was the hardest thing to let go o’ mo nighean donn. Would I e’er get to love her agin like this? I wanted to cry, but kept it inside o’ me, for she needed her sleep, and I felt it shameful to let her see my eyes wet wi’ cryin’. At last, I was forced to loosen my hold on the lass who stole my heart and swallowed my bitter tears.

 

**# # # # #**

With the last of the bannocks eaten for breakfast, I began rolling up the animal hides so we could be back on the road. Jamie stopped me, and gently pushing on my shoulders, sat me on the bed.

 

“Claire, can ye no tell me what it is as stands o’er us like a damn shadow.”

 

“I want to tell you, but you probably won’t believe me.”

 

“Whether I believe or no, isna the problem. We vowed to each other, Sassenach, as we would always tell the truth. Are ye ready to let me ken what it is then?”

 

“All right.” I puffed out my cheeks and blew out a bubble of air. “Remember the song that minstrel sang at Castle Leoch—the one about the girl who came through the stones … from another time?”

 

“Aye. Ye were sittin’ beside me when he sang it.”

 

“Jamie … everything in that song … it’s true, because I came through those very stones—the standing stones at Craigh na Dun. This time, you see … it isn’t my time. That’s why I couldn’t talk about it to anyone. They would think I was crazy, or worse yet, a witch. And as you could obviously tell, that was the very case. But, I’m not a witch—I’m only a lost soul from the future.”

 

Jamie had his eyes shut tight while I continued to narrate my tale. Perhaps he thought I was insane as I had predicted. Instead, as I finished, he opened his eyes, and nodded, then quietly rolled up the rest of the bedding.

 

**# # # # #**

It wasna possible, was it? Yet, it had a ring o’ truth ’bout it. Claire had a lot o’ learnin’ and such ’bout thin’s … herbs, healin’, and medicine, and could prophesy ’bout occurrences as if they had already happened. Maybe they had. One thin’ was for certain; she claimed her Frank was waitin’ for her in 1945, and I hadna right to keep the lass from her lawful husband. Aye, it is verra painful to accept that the woman ye love must leave, yet I kent as I had to let her go back to where she once belonged. It was the honorable thin’ to do, much as it broke my heart to do so.

 

When we took to the road agin, I prayed to God Almighty, to help me be strong enough to release her from my side. Claire noticed as we had changed direction, and were headin’ away from Castle Leoch.

 

“Where are we going, Jamie?”

 

“I’m takin’ ye to Craigh na Dun, and back to yer husband.” _And God help me do what is right, for I canna do it on my own._


	2. Traveling Through Stone

 

 

 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander.       Banner by LOS

**. . . . .**

 

We rode mostly in silence that day. The only sounds on the road were the breathing of the horses and the striking of the hooves on the cobblestones.

 

They say that animals are very intuitive, and I wondered if Trom Laighe or Brimstone could sense the tension between us. I was afraid to say anything to Jamie. He had made up his mind, selflessly leading me back to my own time, despite the deepening grief that was certain to eat at him because of it.

 

My love for Jamie had grown over the last few months, but that didn’t change the fact that I was a flagrant bigamist, and had a heartbroken husband waiting for my return in the year 1945.

 

I was being torn in half emotionally, and I could just imagine how Jamie felt. After all, I was his one and only, his Sassenach. He was incredibly strong, a soldier in fact, but his heart right now must have been battling a losing war, overrun with sorrow.

 

Did I want to go back to Frank, and leave my sweet Scotsman behind? I wished I had never met and married my Scotty. The pain in separating would be the demise of both of us. And yet, loving him was something I would never regret if I lived to be a hundred.

 

**# # # # #**

The closer we came to Craigh na Dun, the more I cursed my verra existence. It wouldha been better for me to have died in battle than to lose Claire. I loved her so.

 

Now, as I’d experienced love, I didna ken if I could e’er live agin wi’out it.

 

It was a soberin’ thought as after t’day, I would ne’er set eyes upon my bonny Sassenach. I expected as I wouldna e’er love another lass, as I did Claire _. Ah, Claire, why did ye havta be marrit to Frank? Ye’ll be carryin’ my heart wi’ ye as ye pass through the stones, and I’ll be left a broken man, wi’ nay will to live, while Frank will have the joy o’ ye on the morrow and all the tomorrows to come._

**. . . . .**

If I hadna asked her ’bout the damn secret, we could be t’gether back in Ebenezer Bryce’s cabin, holdin’ each other and whisperin' words o’ love and such, but nay, I was now on my way to ruin, and all because o’ my clot-headed pryin’.

 

Then I thought, what if what she told me was no the truth, but what she imagined in her own mind. A wee bit o’ hope struggled to gain entrance to my heart. Daft or no, my love for the woman couldna be denied, and so I grasped onto the slippery wisp and rode on.

 

# # # # #

 

The sky was grey, and overcast, with only a slight breeze rustling throughout the nearby larches. It was decidedly eerie; no birds chirping or flying about. Perhaps they were aware of the supernatural properties of the grey, rock towers.

 

The stones now stood as ominous sentinels of time, looming in front of us. I felt as if I was heading toward my own execution. It was that bloody witch trial all over again, only this time, it was Jamie that was sentencing me to my doom.

 

In hindsight, if I had it to do all over again, I wouldn’t have told Jamie what I was forced to conceal these many months. I supposed that not being able to share that secret gnawed at him, but this … this turn of events would certainly be more painful in the long run.

 

Jamie pulled on Trom Laighe’s reins halting the beast at the foot of the hill and dismounted. He tethered the animal to a nearby tree, and walking Brimstone to stand beside his horse, fastened her there as well. My Scotsman then reached up to help me down. With his arms about my waist, he carefully lifted me from the saddle. As he set me on the ground, he held me far longer than necessary, though I must admit I was just as reluctant to separate from him. Was this the end? We would leave each other and never look back? I honestly didn’t know if I could go through with this. The look on his face would haunt me forever.

 

“Come, Lass,” he murmured. “It’s no much further, but a furlong or so. Ye can see the stones, can ye no?”

 

In a quavering voice, I answered, “Yes, I saw them as we rounded the bend near the twin pines.”

 

When he took my hand to lead me up the incline, I said, “Jamie, nothing has changed, except that now you know. We can go on as we have. We don’t have to do this.  ”

 

“Aye, we do. I’ll no have the memory o’ that man come betwixt us, and that will happen for certain … as sure as the rain falls from the sky. And anaways, Frank was yer husband afore ye came into my life. I canna blame ye for what’s happened, as it was Dougal’s all-fired doin’s—and Randall’s as weel, I expect. And I thank ye for marryin’ me all the same and makin’ me happy for a time, but that time is now o’er. 

 

“I canna deny as I sorely love ye, but I ken as Frank must love ye the same. And as much as I’ll grieve when ye leave me, I’m sure as he is outta his mind wi’ worry for ye, maybe e’en mournin’ as thinkin’ ye might be dead.”

 

Trying to reason with the stubborn Scot, I offered, “While that may be true, he’s had time to accept my absence, Jamie, and he’s not in harm’s way like you are. He has friends, and family, his work … He’ll move on. I’m certain of it.” 

 

“Maybe he will, or maybe he willna get o’er yer loss. Still …it’s my duty to return ye to yer rightful husband and time. Dinna ye see that, Lass? What kind o’ man would I be if I kept ye from him. There’s no honor in that.”

 

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Honor—you men and your bloody honor …”

 

He licked his lips, and with his head cast down, sighed. “I’ll no argue wi’ ye anamore, Sassenach. My mind is fixed to doin’ this. Just one thin’ I need to tell ye tho’. I’m verra sorry for strappin’ ye that day, as I expect ye werena runnin’ from me, but to _him_. It shames me to ken as ye were only tryin’ to do what was proper and I op and tanned ye for it.”

 

**. . . .**

What was I to do? Was he actually going to force me to pass through the stone? And if I did, would I ever be able to return? I looked up into that stern face. He was bigger than I was; I had no recourse but to submit to his will.

 

He dragged me along by the hand until we were at the circle, then turned me toward himself. I heard his breath catch and watched as his eyes raked over me. Jamie grasped me about the waist, and drew me to his chest, embracing me in a bone-crushing hug, all the while brushing his cheek against the hair at my neck.

 

My Scotty released me and broke the silence. “Claire, can ye do somethin’ for me?”

 

“Always. What is it?”

 

“Will ye promise to ne’er forget me?”

 

Feeling the weight of the situation, I ran my hand through his copper curls. “That I could never do, Jamie. I’ll remember you ’til the day I take my last breath.”

 

My Scotty, usually so quick and easy with words, was suddenly choking on them. He croaked out a single syllable, “Good.”

 

He gave a brave smile and nodded. It was time for me to go.

 

I walked up to the largest monolith and placed my hands upon the rock face. That familiar buzz sounded along with the whistling and gusting of the wind. Feeling the pull, I began my travel through time, when Jamie’s hand reached out tugging on me, hauling me back.

 

“No! Claire, dinna go … no yet. Let me hold ye and kiss ye one time more. Then ye’re free to see yer Frank.”

 

The pain reflected in his face made me groan. “Jamie … please. Don’t make this any more complicated.”

 

# # # # #

 

I couldna believe my own eyes, as Claire was shimmerin’ afore me, half in and half out o’ the stone. It was true then, as hard as it was to understand. There’d been hope in me as the lass was only daft, but I canna say now as she was. God help me, but I had to hold her one last time, afore she was gone from me fore’er. I kept prayin’ and prayin’ for the good lord to give me the strength to let her go, but my heart was racin’ so fast, and my breathin’ comin’ on like a gallopin’ horse.

 

The wind was a’blowin’, and the hair as I loved, was billowin’ ’bout her face. I stared at her, the astonishin’ beauty o’ her piercin’ straight into my heart. My mind wrapped itself ’bout that face in attemptin’ to memorize ever’ curve, the sherry in crystal o’ her eyes, and the blush of her cheeks.

 

My chest ached, and I did battle wi’ the tears threatenin’ to pool in my eyes. I interrupted Claire’s protests, and hugged her fiercely agin, my mouth desperate to taste her lips. My beloved Sassenach responded as always, makin’ it that more difficult to push her away.

 

Her form was so familiar to me, moldin’ to my body as if she was a piece o’ it ... a piece as soon I would mourn, as it’s torn away. I kent the bleedin’ wouldna stop for a verra long time.

 

I listened to her breathin’, and felt the soft curves o’ her pressed agin’ me. Her sweet lips yielded under mine, and I didna wanta let them part.

 

My fingers threaded through the strands o’ her hair, and at last, I nuzzled my nose in amongst them, inhalin’ the perfume as was my Sassenach.

 

When I pulled away from the lass, she looked at me with such love and tenderness, I nearly fell to the earth. _Oh, Claire … Claire. How can I live wi’ out ye?_

 

I stepped back to let her get on wi’ it, but as soon as she started to fade, I was in a panic and changed my mind. I yelled to her, “Claire, I canna let ye go.”

 

In an instant, I clenched my fingers ’round her hand, thinkin’ to bring her back agin, but as she slipped through the stone, I felt a verra strong force pullin’ at me, and I couldna fight agin’ it. And so, I went wi’ her to her own time … to 1945, and och … a whole new world to this Scotsman.

 

**. . . . .**

Stars and stones! Had I fallen asleep then? I awoke wi’ a start, lyin’ beside my Sassenach, and feelin’ a wee bit woozy, my head a’spinnin’ ’round as a top. I sat op, and Claire’s mouth gaped like a flounderin’ codfish when she saw me.

 

She was verra excitable, wi’ her hands flappin’ ’bout the air.  “What have you done, Jamie? I’ll have to take you back. It’s too dangerous for you here.”

 

Was the lass bein’ serious? My tongue clicked. “Dangerous? Dinna fash, Sassenach. I brought my sword and dirk wi’ me.”

 

“Bloody hell, I don’t mean that literally,” she huffed.

 

Confused, I told her, “Then, I dinna ken yer meanin’.”

 

“Well, for one thing, you’re dressed differently. It’ll set you apart. The people here won’t understand why you’re wearing clothes like that.”

 

I was scratchin’ at my head. What was wrong wi’ my clothes? “Like what?”

 

“Like a Highlander.”

 

“Aye. But, Sassenach. I am a Highlander.”

 

“Oh, good lord,” she muttered. “I know it, and you know it, but the Highlanders of this era dress in modern clothing.”

 

Finally, it made a bit o’ sense. “Ah … I see.”

**. . . . .**

I helped her op from the grassy knoll, my arm ’bout her shoulders. “If we’re in yer time for certain, I’ll no go back, no wi’out ye, unless ye’re sayin’ ye’ll stay wi’ me. Anaways, how d’ye ken as we’re no back where we came from?”

 

She pointed over my head. “Look behind you. See those tall wooden stakes with the lines draped between them. There’re telephone poles.”

 

“A telephone, ye say. And what might that be?”

 

“I’ll explain it quite thoroughly while we walk to Inverness.”

 

**# # # # #**

When we met the road, Jamie stomped his boots on the black pavement. “Macadam,” I casually commented. Ironically, I realized it was named after a Scotsman.

 

My Scotty quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing, swiveling his head this way and that, taking in all the roadside signs and fencing. He jumped a mile when a car beeped, and swerved around us.

 

His eyes got big. “I do believe ye, Claire. It’s no like my Scotland atall. It’s gonta take some gettin’ used to, I expect.”

 

I smiled at the wonderment in his eyes. “Yes, Scotty, it will, most assuredly.”

 

 

 

 

 


	3. A Journey of Wonder

 

 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander      Banner by LOS

. . . . .

My original plan—if I was forced into coming back by my brute of a husband—was to turn myself into the police, and have them call Frank to pick me up. Now that I had Jamie with me though, what in the name of everything holy was I going to do with him?

 

I had no money with me, and the coins in Jamie’s sporran would raise suspicions, to say the least. Perhaps I could take his currency—and his dirk if he would part with it— to some prestigious antique dealer and get a tidy sum for them. Bloody hell, why did the clot-head have to follow me? A better question would be, why did he have to be so damned honorable in the first place? None of this would’ve happened if he would just have let it rest. I could be in my surgery right now, stitching up wounds or traipsing about in the brush, collecting herbs.

 

**. . . . .**

 

My reverie abruptly ended, as after the car sped past, Jamie said, “I didna see a horse pullin’ that thin’ down the road. How does it move?”

 

“That _thing_ is called an automobile. It operates under its own power. I’m no expert on the subject … something about a combustion engine, I believe. It runs on gasoline.” I smiled inwardly, remembering the men discussing, well bragging actually, about such and such _horsepower_ of their vehicles.

 

Jamie frowned, struggling to process all the new information, I suppose. It was one thing to blend into the goings on of the past. At least that was somewhat familiar, but walking head-on into the future was most probably mind-boggling.

 

“Gasoline?”

 

“Yes, it’s a fuel. You know, like whale oil that you use in your lanterns, except that this oil is pumped out of the ground.”

 

Several vehicles zipped on by, and each time, Jamie jerked back in surprise. One, in particular, was a delivery truck with a sign emblazoned on its chassis reading Brodie’s Dairy. Jamie looked at me while I explained, “It’s a milk truck.”

 

Stopping in his tracks, Jamie sputtered, “D’ye mean to tell me as they take their cows into the village in such a way? How can the animals breathe in there?”

 

I burst out laughing. “No, silly. I assure you there are no cows in that truck. The milk is in bottles and delivered to the homes, and to the markets.”

 

“No one in Inverness owns a cow, then?”

 

“Not hardly. We’re not allowed to shelter animals on the premises, except for dogs and cats, unless of course, one’s home is out in the country.”

 

He nodded in comprehension. “Ah …

 

“But I dinna ken how ye keep the milk from spoilin’.”

 

Intertwining my fingers with his, I lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles, then taking a breath, dove into a lecture. “Well … we keep all our perishable food in what’s called a refrigerator. It’s like a large cabinet, with coils of pipes in back of it where Freon—another kind of gas, circulates somehow within the outer covering, preserving it all by keeping it very cold.”

 

Our discussions went on without interruption until I observed a dark green Buick with a crumpled fender and one broken tail light. It had pulled up next to a large tree where a white sign hung. The man had gotten out, looked at the notice and then went on. He must’ve executed a U-turn while I was thus engaged in imparting information to my baffled Scotsman, because a few minutes later he appeared behind us again, and slowed down. He was no doubt curious about our unusual attire.

 

No matter—we continued our trek toward the town with me chattering on all the while, extolling the virtues of 20th century living. My poor Scotty kept nodding his head, too overwhelmed to comment, I imagine.

 

**. . . . .**

The tips of the buildings peeped over the next ridge; Inverness wasn’t that far away now.

 

Jamie and I had come to the spot where the Buick had stopped previously. We looked at the sign nailed to the tree, only it wasn’t a sign, but a poster for a missing person. There on that very poster was my face staring back at me.

 

Pointing at the photo, Jamie exclaimed, “Claire—it’s yer likeness.”

 

I raised an eyebrow. “So it is.”

 

**. . . . .**

It didn’t take long for my worst nightmare to come about. Apparently, clothes weren’t the only thing of interest to the man in the green car, for a siren rang out, and a police cruiser was bearing down on us. It screeched to a halt, blocking our forward progress. Two policemen bolted from the vehicle, and Jamie’s hand instinctively reached for his sword.

 

With his other hand, he pushed me behind him in a protective manner. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! It became abundantly clear to me that my clot-headed Scotsman was about to engage in battle. I yelled, “Jamie—no!”

 

It was too late, the sword was already in his hand, and he was lunging at the officers. His brave endeavor was fruitless, however, since one of the men had a gun trained on him.

 

“Drop yer weapon, Lad. This gun is loaded.”

 

Jamie looked back at me, and I agreed. “Do as he says.”

 

He belligerently stood his ground. “I willna lower my sword ’til I have yer word as nay harm will come to the lass.”

 

“You have my word.”

 

Surrendering his sword to the man, Jamie asked, “Why are ye doin’ this, might I ask?”

 

The other policeman answered.  “We got a call as a missin’ person with her abductor was on the road comin’ into town. At first, he thought ye were part of a theater company puttin’ on Brigadoon for the tourists, but when he saw the poster … Weel now, laddie, he thought agin. Now, I’d be much obliged if ye two would come wi’ us to the station to clear this op.”

 

I walked toward the cruiser slowly, but when Jamie got near the vehicle, he panicked and resisted getting in. He’d never seen a car before, let alone ridden inside one. As a last resort, the policemen had to handcuff him, while I tried to assure him that he’d be safe once inside.

 

“Jamie, it’s all right. I’ll be with you.”

 

“Go on, then, Lass,” one man gestured toward the back seat.

 

I refused. “It’d be best if Jamie got in first.” 

 

The officer ducked Jamie’s head down and shoved him onto the seat. I followed close behind.

 

Looking around the interior of the cab, Jamie was not convinced of our safety. “Stars and stones, woman, we’ll suffocate in here for certain.” 

 

“We’ll not suffocate. The front windows are rolled down. There’s plenty of air to breathe, so relax, or you’ll hyperventilate.”

 

“I canna relax whilst in this auto-bo-bil, so I suppose as I’ll be hy-per-ven-tilattin’ like ye say, ’til I’m blue as a warrin’ Pict.”    

 

The men muttered between themselves, and I overheard one say, “Ye’d think the lad had never ridden in a car before. And what d’ye make of their clothes? Odds bodkins, strange to be sure.”

 

**. . . . .**

“Where are these brigands takin’ us, Claire?”

 

“They’re hardly brigands, Jamie. They’re policemen, sworn to protect the citizens of Scotland.”

 

Scowling, Jamie touted, “By aimin’ their pistols at innocent people?”

 

“If you remember correctly, you first intimidated them by drawing your bloody sword.”

 

“Weel, how was I to ken as they were here to be protectin’ us when they rushed at us like a couple o’ filthy redcoats.”

 

In a low voice, I replied, “Need I remind you, that this is the 20th century? There are no redcoats anymore.”

 

I smiled at the poor man, hoping to calm him somewhat, but he was still sitting ramrod straight, eyes wild, and looking white as a sheet.

 

**. . . . .**

 

They drove us to the police station, and while the first policeman pulled to the curb, the second one escorted us into the building. Jamie’s eyes darted about everywhere, taking in his surroundings, most probably looking for an escape route, no doubt.

 

After seeing Jamie and me seated, the man informed us, “I expect I should introduce myself. I’m Officer Bayne, and my partner is Officer Strothers. Now, Lass, I know you’re Claire Randall, but who might this be sittin’ beside ye, in handcuffs, I might add?” He stroked the top of his balding pate. “I’m not stupid enough to believe as this gent abducted ye.”

 

Gesturing to my sweetheart, I replied, “This is Jamie Fraser, and no, he did not abduct me, sir. I am with him of my own free will. Now can you please remove his manacles?”

 

Bayne gave me a knowing look; one which I should have slapped him for. He ignored my request, reaching instead for the telephone and a small file box of some sort. Picking out a card, the man dialed the number and waited.

 

In the duration, I noted Jamie scrutinizing all the other policemen talking on their telephones, interviewing people or writing at their desks.

 

Sitting up more alert, Bayne spoke into the mouthpiece, saying, “Hello …it’s Officer Bayne from Precinct 12 in Inverness. I’d like to speak with Professor Franklin Randall if he’s available. Yes, I do believe he would deem this most urgent. Thank ye kindly.

 

He tapped his foot impatiently. “Professor Randall?  Sorry to bother ye, but I think we’ve picked up yer wife and the man accompanyin’ her. Would ye like to speak to her, then? Aye. Anythin’ ye say. Will ye be comin’ down here t’day? Oh, I see. What’s that?”

 

The officer shook his head, listening to whatever Frank was telling him.

 

“All right then. We’ll be seein’ ye tomorrow afternoon.”

 

I extended my hand to take the phone from him, but Bayne flicked my hand away and placed the receiver back on its cradle. His hand waved in the air, motioning to some of the men in the room. They swarmed around us, and searched Jamie, removing his dirk, and slipping out the sgian dubh hidden in his boot.

 

Bayne stood at his desk. “Lock these two up. They’ll be spendin’ the night.”

 

I sprang up out of my chair. “What is the meaning of this? We’ve done nothing wrong. We are not criminals. You have no right to incarcerate us.”

“Yer husband says otherwise. He is pressin’ charges against Fraser, here, and I have no recourse but to abide by his wishes. Until this case is sorted out, ye’ll stay behind bars, and like it.”

 

I sneered at him. “I should have let him slice you to bloody ribbons, you pompous git!”

 

He rammed his fist down upon the surface of his desk, making some cold tea slop over the lip of a cup sitting there. “I’ll not stand here and listen to yer insults. Take them away, men.”

 

As they yanked Jamie to his feet, I stuck my arms straight out in front of me. In as much sarcasm as I could muster, I taunted, “Aren’t you going to slap the bracelets on me as well. After all, I may be a highly dangerous woman. No telling what dastardly deeds I may have committed.”

 

A policeman grabbed me roughly by the shoulder. “That’ll be enough o’ that. Come along.”

 

They French walked Jamie along the corridor, then shoved him into an empty cell. I put up such a commotion when they tried to house me in the adjoining one, yelling, “No, no—I want to be with Jamie!”

 

I clung to the bars, reclaiming them each time they pried my fingers away. “Have a heart, lass,” one of them said, desperately attempting to peel me away from the iron one last time. Another of the men, relented, “Let the woman share his cell. It’s no skin off my nose.” 

 

They reopened the door to Jamie’s cell, and I flew in, nearly landing in my Scotty’s lap. I heard it clang shut behind me, and the cursing of the guards as they shuffled back to the front office.

 

**# # # # #**

We sat in silence for quite some time. Glad I was as Claire could stay wi’ me, here in this little room. I wondered how long we would wait ’til the guards took us to their prison.

 

My wife was sorely vexed, pacin’ back and forth. “Jamie, I’m so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

 

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. It was my own doin’. I took ye to the stones, and now, we’re here.  Leastways, we havna been imprisoned as yet.”

 

Her eyes grew big as a oatcake. “Look again. You don’t see those iron bars in front of you?”

 

I couldna hardly believe as this was a prisoner compound. “Ye mean, this is yer prison?”

 

“Well, not quite, but it _is_ a holding cell.”

 

It didna make any sense. “I ne’er saw a prison wi’ a bed, and blankets, and a pillow.” I turned to look back at the strange white bowls hooked agin’ the wall. “And what are those thin’s hangin’ there?”

 

“One’s a sink to wash up in, the other a privy.”

 

“A privy, ye say. Och … next ye’ll be tellin’ me, I’ll be served a hot meal to boot.”

 

“I will, and I can smell it comin’ down the hall as we speak.”

 

“Weel, stars and stones, I expect bein’ an outlaw seems to be right comfortable in 1945.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Frankly Speaking

 

 

 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander.       Banner by LOS/ story banner by OTB

**. . . . .**

The meal trays arrived, and I admonished Jamie that we should wash our hands before eating.

 

He followed me to the sink and watched with interest as I turned the spigot. Then Jamie’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he placed his hands under running, hot water.

 

He stepped back, looking at the water dripping from his hands. “It’s hot!”

 

“Yes, it’s hot; one of the many luxuries I missed in your era.”

 

“But where …?”

 

“I couldn’t say. I’m not a bleeding plumber.”

 

“A what?”

 

I chuckled at the look on his face. “Never mind … let’s just eat, shall we?”

 

My big oaf of a husband needed no further coaxing. He picked up his tray from its perch on the cot and dug into it with gusto.

 

“I didna e’er have such food in all my bairn days,” he spouted between bites.

 

Jamie sat there on the narrow bed frame, grinning like he was having the time of his life, and shoveling the fare down, savoring every morsel. Me? Not hardly. I was still peeved that Frank wouldn’t speak to me, and had the unmitigated gall to have us thrown into a jail cell. I would make the best of it, however. Sharing the rat-infested mud hole with Geillis was far worse. At least this time, I had the assurance of the police that I wouldn’t be tied to a stake and burned to a crisp.

 

Picking at the stuff on my tray, I complained of a nervous stomach. Jamie on the other hand, polished off his plate, helping himself to what was left on mine. I peered at him, incredulous. He seemed totally unmindful as to our circumstances. I was getting increasingly infuriated at his nonchalant attitude. “Aren’t you the teeniest bit worried about the situation we’re in?”

 

“Nay … there’s nothin’ to be done ’bout it. My weapons are no wi’ me. Leastways, I have food, a bed, blankets, and a roof o’er my head. Ye could say it’s a blessin’ o’ sorts.”

 

“You would,” I groused.

 

He poked at a small glass bowl filled with Jell-o with his spoon, seemingly amused. “I ne’er did eat food as ye could see through. What is it?”

 

“It’s gelatin.”

 

“Ah … it’s gelatin, ye say. And what might gelatin be?”  He lowered his head to be at eye-level with me, anticipating my knowledgeable response.

 

“I’m not really sure.” I sighed, getting tired of answering all these questions. “Jamie, I don’t have all the answers, and I have no idea what to do at this moment. I’m scared— and here you are, sitting in this very jail cell eating as if you haven’t a bloody care in the world.” I clenched my teeth, and folding my arms across my chest, spit out, “God, I just wish none of this had happened.”

 

His beloved face broke into a smile. “Aye, truly spoken. But what’s doon, is doon. Anaways, we dinna have Captain Randall breathin’ down our necks, and chasin’ us from place to place, ye ken.”

 

“Yes, there is that, and small comfort it is.” I stared at the wall, wanting my gaze to burn a giant-sized hole into it, and free us from this mess.

 

Jamie pulled me against his side, kissing the hair grazing my face. It’s no so bad as all that, Sassenach. We have each other.”

 

I stiffened. “But for how long? Frank will be here in the morning.”

 

**# # # # #**

Aye. There was that damnable Frank. It was a verra soberin’ thought. I was hopin’ wi’ all my heart, as Frank when he saw how much Claire and I loved each other, would let her go, and remain wi’ me. Whilst I didna hold wi’ divorce, if it meant we could stay t’gether, then I would live in sin for the rest o’ my life, and be glad o’ it.

 

There was one thin’ I was scairt o’ tho’, as much as Claire thought otherwise. I had to accept the fact as if he were to forgive her and take her back, I would be a dead soul, roamin’ these hills like a ghost wi’ nay a place to call home.

 

**. . . . .**

 

Night was comin’ on, and the light in our little room began to dim, but then I was startled, as in a sudden, it became bright as the sun. I hopped off the cot, lookin’ ever’where, wonderin’ where the light had come from. There was nay fire to be seen, nor any lanterns near us.

 

“God in heaven … where …?”

 

Claire pointed to a clear dish as was stuck on the ceilin’. “It’s an electric light, Jamie, and please don’t ask me to explain it. All I know is that you flip a switch, and the light goes on.”

 

She began her pacin’ agin, then stoppin’ by the cot, said, “Bloody hell, that bed is too short for you and too narrow to fit the two of us.”

 

“Dinna fash. Ye can have the bed. I’ll do wi’ the floor. It wilna be the first time I slept in such a way.”

 

“You will do nothing of the sort! I won’t allow it.”

 

She walked to the barred gate and yelled out, “Hello, can anyone hear me?”

 

A guard came by at her beckonin’ to see what the matter was.

 

“Guard! You there,” she called. When he approached the door, she pointed toward our sleeping arrangement, and told the man, “As you can plainly see, this bed is not sufficient to hold both of us.”

 

“Aye, that much is true, Lass, but I canna fit another cot in there.”

 

With a click o’ her tongue, she continued. “Well then, just bring another mattress hence. That should do the trick.”

 

The guard was surprised by how plainspoken my lass was, and rolled his eyes ’bout. “All right then.”

 

He unlocked the room next to ours, and rolled op the mattress wi’ extra blankets and such, then came to us. “Get back,” he said, “so’s I can put these in yer cell.”

 

My Sassenach exploded wi’ vexation. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. Do you actually suppose I could overtake you and escape this bloody place?”

 

“Weel, no, but … what about Ginger?”

 

The little woman stood straight as a broom with her hands opon her hips. “Ginger likes it here. He’s not about to try anything. Now, come in, and drop the mattress on the floor; I’ll take care of it.”

 

He saluted her and opened the cell door. “Anathin’ ye say, Ma’am.” The guard turned toward me after placin’ all the beddin’ down, and said, “Good luck to ye, Lad. That one’s a firecracker.”

 

I looked op at him, my chin restin’ on a fist. “Ye ken that, d’ye now?”

 

With a wink, he said, “Aye, that’s for certain.”

 

**# # # # #**

Jamie got up from the cot and hauled the mattress off of it. We laid them side by side and shoved them together. “There … that should be cozy enough.

 

“It’s getting late. Perhaps you should use the privy. I’ll show you how to use it.”

 

“Stars and stones, woman. I’ve relieved myself since I was knee-high to my da. I dinna need my wife to show me how to take a piss.”

 

“Go on then, Scotty, and don’t forget to flush.”

 

“I wilna be flushin’. We’ve been married awhile now. Why should liftin’ my kilt embarrass me? Ye’ve seen me naked afore.”

 

I snorted at his comment. The poor boy was clueless.

 

He finished making his deposit, and I pushed down on the handle, flushing it away. At his confused appearance, I confessed, “I don’t know, and I don’t care, as long as it’s gone.”

 

Making my own contribution to the sewage system, I flushed again as the lights blinked. “Time to turn in, Jamie. That means lights out.”

 

We no sooner settled under the blankets, when Jamie was all over me.

 

I pushed at him gently. “What is wrong with you? You can’t be serious.”

 

“Aye … I am.”

 

“But—”

 

The words were cut off abruptly by his insistent kisses. The Titian curls on his head tickled the skin at my throat as he worked his way up to my waiting lips. As always, my body followed my heart, betraying me, and my better judgment as well. There was no way I could ever resist my Scotty.

 

When the loving was finished and he held me in his arms, my guard came down, and I let my emotions take free reign. I started to cry, and Jamie tightened his hold securely around me.

 

“Shh … Sassenach. All is weel.”

 

Stroking his cheek, I whimpered, “Jamie, it’s not. I don’t know what to do. I can’t leave you, but I can’t hurt Frank either. Why did we come back? This was all a big mistake.”

 

“ _Je suis prest_. Whate’er happens, I willna lay the blame at yer feet. I love ye, Claire. Let us _be_ for the time as left to us. The morrow will bring what may, dinna be worrit. Ye’ll make the right decision. If ye choose Frank, I canna fault ye, for ye loved him afore ye e’er lit on my face. Now, get some sleep afore the dawn breaks.”  

 

**. . . . .**

If I did choose to return to Frank, what would become of my Scotsman? Would he be able to pass through the stones, back to his own time, or would his spend the rest of his life here, never fitting in? What kind of job could he procure? Where would he live? Could he ever love again?

 

Sometime during the night, and despite the rapid musings of my mind, I fell asleep. The needed rest didn’t help decrease the anxiety I felt at meeting Frank, however.

 

**. . . . .**

After lunch was over, I heard voices down the hall, one of which I recognized immediately. The two men approached the cell door, and Jamie let out a gasp of surprise. I hadn’t told him how much my husband resembled Jonathan Randall. And now, as Frank looked at me in such a cold fashion, the resemblance was markedly intensified.

 

“So, the wanton woman returns, eh?”

 

“Frank, let me explain.”

 

Shaking a finger at me, Frank hissed, “No—let me explain. I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I believed you’d been kidnapped …” His eyes roamed over Jamie. “… And _instead_ , I find that you’d run off with this Scotch bastard.”

 

Before I could come up with a rebuttal, Jamie had jumped up from the cot, “I’ll no have ye speak to Claire in such a manner.”

 

Frank sneered at Jamie. “Shut your mouth. This is not your concern. Claire is still my wife, and I’ll talk to her in any way, I damn well please.”

 

Reaching the door in two strides, my Scotty glared at Frank. Jamie towered over him, his face reddened in anger. I was surprised that the iron bars weren’t crushed to a powder in his hands.

 

I touched the sleeve of his jacket. “Jamie … no. I’ll handle this on my own.”

 

“Yes, you will.” Frank gestured to the guard, to open the cell. “You’re coming with me, Claire. We’ll discuss this further at the hotel.”

 

Frank grabbed my arm, leading me out into the hall. I pulled it out of his grasp. “Wait … what about Jamie? We can’t leave him there all alone.”

 

A scowl crossed his face. “That filthy cur can rot in that cell for all I care. Now, come along.”

 

The cell door began rattling behind me, with Jamie yelling, “Claire … Claire!”

 

**. . . . .**

 

I was being dragged to the outer office, and I fought with everything in my power to resist. I succeeded in squirming away from him and backed myself against the wall. “I am not going anywhere with you unless you first let Jamie go free.”

 

“That is not likely to happen. I will prosecute that man to the full extent of the law.”

 

He was as unmovable as the stones at the Craigh, so I averted my attention to the officer in charge, who coincidentally, turned out to be the man who arrested us … Bayne. Pleading with the man, I said, “Jamie is innocent. He did not—I repeat—did not abduct me.”

 

Frank interrupted, “Don’t listen to her. My wife is not well. She’s been suffering from battle fatigue ever since the end of the war.”

 

Nearly choking on my words; I was absolutely furious. Sputtering, I ranted, “Whaaaaat? My god, Frank.” I lunged to the edge of the officer’s desk. “He’s lying, Bayne. Can’t you see that? My mind is as sharp as ever. He’s just acting like a jealous, vengeful, prick.”

 

The _prick_ smirked, and bellied up to the desk beside me. “You all know me and my reputation. Why would I lie to you about something so personal? I’ll be taking Mrs. Randall to the psychiatric clinic at Oxfordshire, so she may get the proper care she needs.”

 

That idiot, Bayne, agreed with Frank. “That sounds verra sensible. And good luck to ye, Professor Randall.” Waving at me, he cheerily added, “Ye get yerself weel now, Lass. Ye’re  in good hands.”

 

As Frank yanked me out the door and to his car, I thought, _Bloody hell, that remains to be seen …_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Hatching a Plan

 

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**. . . . .**

We drove to Baird’s Bed and Breakfast. The last time I was here, Frank and I were on our second honeymoon, this time, I was afraid, it wouldn’t be that amicable. I felt an overpowering tension in the air between us. This was not the Frank of my memory; the gentle soul I pined for all those months before my marriage to Jamie … and even afterward, if I wanted to be truthful about it. He had become jealous, unforgiving, and bitter. Yet, the fact remained; I was the cause of this transformation. And I was now paying a heavy price.

 

Frank walked with me into the room, and said, “Sit down, Claire. I demand some answers.” I almost laughed, remembering that he had a job with the British Intelligence Agency during the war, teaching soldiers how to avoid divulging military secrets during interrogations.

 

He circled me, organizing his thoughts, I supposed. Taking a deep breath, he stood in front of the chair I was seated in, and began his line of questioning. “Where did you meet this Scottish actor? Was it during the war? Were you his nurse?”

 

“I did not meet him in the field hospital, and he’s not an actor.”

 

“And you expect me to believe that?”

 

“I don’t expect you to believe anything I have to say, but it’s the truth.”

 

Gesturing wildly, Frank spouted, “If … as you say, he’s not an actor, then why is he dressed in that ridiculous outfit? Were you both in some sort of traveling theater? Is that why you’re dressed in a costume as well?”

 

“I’m not telling you one word of where I’ve been, or who I was with until you agree to let Jamie go.”

 

“He’ll stay in that jail until I feel he’s been punished enough for stealing my wife.”

 

“How can you be so cruel?”

 

Seething, and pacing about frantically, Frank roared, “I was out of my mind, searching everywhere for you. I suffered the torments of hell, not knowing whether you were dead or alive. And you say I’m cruel?”

 

I lowered my voice, attempting to defuse the situation momentarily. “I understand how profoundly I hurt you, and since you feel that way, then I’m the one to be punished. Jamie did nothing to merit this. You have to drop the charges, Frank. You know he didn’t kidnap me.”

 

He rubbed his forehead in what could only be construed as exasperation. “You’re in love with the man, aren’t you? Did you ever … even _once_ think of me while you were in your lover’s arms?”

 

“What a thing to say! Of course, I thought of you. Contrary to your erroneous assumption, I didn’t deliberately disappear; but it’s a long story, one that you obviously won’t believe. I tried to get back to you … several times in fact.”

 

Frank leaned into my personal space, clenching the arms of the chair, his dark eyes like burning coals. “You didn’t try hard enough though, did you?”

 

In response, I pressed my body forward to meet him. “You have no idea _how_ hard I tried. Please, Frank … I don’t blame you for being angry with me, but Jamie—”

 

He interrupted, the words pouring out of him like a river of lava erupting from a volcano. “If jailing your paramour grieves you, then so be it. What little satisfaction it gives me will have to do for now. I cannot be the laughing stock at the academy. Having your wife kidnapped is one thing, but having her engaged in an adulterous liaison does not sit well with the Dean of the History Department.”

 

“Oh, it becomes clear now. Your bloody standing at the academy. I should have realized that my actions would cast a scandalous shadow over your lily-white character. Pity … a man of your stature unable to control his unruly wife.”

 

His lip curled up in an ugly sneer. “This is a nightmare. I need a drink—a stiff one.”

 

Frank walked to the door, as I taunted, “A bottle of _Scotch_ , perhaps, or maybe a decanter filled with Rhenish?”

 

He ignored my comment, and hesitated, one hand on the doorknob. His head suddenly whipped around in my direction. “I brought you some clothes to wear. They’re in a suitcase inside the closet; see that you put them on. I can’t endure seeing you in that ludicrous attire another minute.”

 

With that, he left the room. I raced to the door, only to hear his key turning in the lock. I’d have to break it down to escape. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ—I was still a prisoner!

 

**# # # # #**

 

Claire didna tell me as Frank looked so much like Captain Randall, and my head still was spinnin’ with the sight of him. Stars and stones, the fellow couldha been his twin.

 

It was puzzlin’ to me how my wife could e’er love a man like that. My chest was filled wi’ the thumpin’ o’ my heart at the way he spoke to her. If I had my sword wi’ me, it wouldna be that hard to run the man through, husband or no, but I expect as Claire wouldna approve of the venture verra much.

 

Now as I had time to ponder my situation, things were no so jolly. Aye, there was a roof above me, food and such, and I couldna complain o’ the cold, but with my Sassenach gone, an empty feelin’ came o’er me. Sad I was, and I plunked down on my wee bed and sighed in weariness.

 

The meal came, but it seemed to have lost its savor. Nonetheless, I ate to keep op my strength. Claire would want me to.

 

Where was she? Was he hurtin’ her? I felt helpless, but what could I do, as these prison bars prevented me from protectin’ the woman I loved?

 

**. . . . .**

As I sat upon my cot, a guard appeared at the door. “Afternoon to ye, Laddie. My name’s Duncan. I’ve come to fetch ye. Are ye op to a shave and a shower?”

 

“Shower?”

 

“Aye, we do have a shower in this facility.”

 

He opened the door and handed me a cloth bundle as he was carryin’. “My wife’s brother is a big man such as yerself. He’d been livin’ with us for a time, but it doesna look like he’ll be returnin’. Anaways, she borrowed these clothes for ye. Says ye may keep them, as they’ve been clutterin’ op the house, and glad she is to be rid o’ them.”

 

“Thank ye, truly.”

 

I extended both hands expectin’ him to clamp the binders on them, but he stopped me and said, “There’ll be no need for that. I figure ye’ll be wantin’ to see the lass agin, and as ye dinna rightly know where to look for her, ye’d be daft to leave here wi’out her.”

 

True enough. I had to stay put in the hope as she would come back to me.

 

Duncan removed the linen coverin’ from my pillow and put it in my hands. “Ye’ll be needin’ this to store yer dirty clothes, I expect. Pick out what ye’d like to wear so we can be on our way.”

 

We walked to a room as was tiled in wee black and white squares. They went op the sides o’ the walls as weel. At the far end o’ the room, there was a round metal cap in the floor, pierced wi’ holes, and another wall ’bout as high as the first knuckle o’ my thumb round about the smaller one. A spout jutted from above, just like the one I saw in the sink bowl. Ah … I imagined as by shower, the man meant for me to wash op wi’ the water that would come from the spigot.

 

He turned the handle on the left, and told me, “Ye havta let the water warm op a bit afore ye step in. It might take awhile.” Duncan pointed to a bench a few feet away. “There’s soap, some towels, and a razor, and shavin’ foam for ye. I’ll wait outside while ye go to it.”

 

It was refreshin’ to take the shower as the man said, and I had nay problem turnin’ the water to the right temperature. The shave foam as he called it tho’, was verra peculiar. A push o’ the button on top o’ the container squeezed out the soap. The razor was somethin’ I hadna seen afore either, and it took some doin’ to scrape all my whiskers away. When I finished, I yelled to Duncan, who held the door for me.

 

“Oh, wait, Lad, yer fly’s open.”

 

I looked down, to see what he was babblin’ ’bout. Aye, the front flap of my trou was open, I didna ken how to close the blasted thin’. I pinched the two sides o’ the seams t’gether, but it gaped open agin as I kent it would.

 

“Is the zipper stuck then?”

 

He went to pull at the little metal tab, when I jerked back.

 

“Easy there, Laddie. I’m no one of those. I like the ladies to be sure.” Duncan put his hands out, palms facing me. “May I?”

 

I nodded, and he tugged at the silver tab. Quick as ye please, the seam closed shut, tight as a drum. 

 

**. . . . .**

 

Back behind the bars, I felt better for havin’ been washed clean, but it did seem strange wearin’ such clothes. They were light on my body, and I sorely missed my weapons and sporran. I wondered what I looked like in them. I didna have a mirror like I did in the room wi’ the shower, and e’en that one wasna verra big. Would I recognize myself?

 

A few minutes later, Duncan was there at my door. “There’s a call for ye, Lad. I’ll take ye to the desk.”

 

**# # # # #**

I had to let Jamie know that I would come to get him … somehow, but I had to come up with a plan first and foremost. I closed my eyes willing my mind to shift into devious mode.

 

The endeavors I made to flee from my Scottish comrades hadn’t worked out so well, and I suppose it was because I hadn’t given much thought as to how I would reach my ultimate goal. My resolve was only to fly from my cage. This time, I would have to thoroughly plot out each and every step if I wanted the escape attempt to succeed; the two of us depended upon it.

 

As the thoughts swirled around the confines of my brain, I thought about how easily Frank had made up my mind for me. I could no longer in good conscience leave my Scotty behind. At least now, I didn’t have the guilt associated with my attachment to him. The bonds I once had with Frank were broken beyond repair, Jamie was my future.

 

It was with reluctance, that I slipped out of my clothes, and without Jamie or Mrs. Fitz to untie my laces, it was a bloody chore. Still, when I stepped into the more modern dress Frank had packed for me, it felt odd, like a sensation that I was falling.

 

**. . . . .**

 

My head was throbbing with the strain of thinking so hard. How could I get a message to Jamie? I practically wore the carpet threadbare with my pacing. Looking about the room, my eyes fell upon the telephone on the nightstand. Of course, why hadn’t I thought of it sooner?

 

I fairly sailed across the suite and lifted the receiver. “Hello? Mrs. Baird? Yes, yes, I’m quite well, thank you. I wonder if you could do me a favor? I would like to speak to the 12th precinct police department. Yes, I believe I may have left an earring there. I wouldn’t bother, but it has sentimental value. My mother gave the set to me. It’s the only thing I have left of her. Oh, thank you. I very much appreciate this.”

 

“Officer Bayne … This is Claire Fraser … oh, I mean Randall. I’d like to speak to Jamie, please. Yes, I realize he is only entitled to one phone call, but this is important. Yes, I’ll hold.”

 

What was taking so long? The jail cell wasn’t that far away from the office. Good lord, I was on tenterhooks, waiting to hear his voice. _Hurry, Jamie. I don’t know how long Frank will be gone._

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Desperation Dictates

 

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**. . . . .**

 

Gesturing to a chair, Duncan bade me sit down. Officer Bayne then held out the telephone to me. I took it, but what was I to do wi’ it? Did I havta put my finger in the little holes like I saw the other men do? I held the piece wi’ the long black rope attached and placed it to my heid. Duncan straightaway took it from me and turned it opside down. I expect I had the wrong end to my ear.

 

Startled I was, to hear Claire … loud as ye please. If I had been at Leoch, I wouldha thought it was a spirit talkin’ to me, or leastways, some type of witchcraft.

 

“Claire? Stars and stones, I hear ye as if ye were right beside me. Aye. Ye should see me, all dandied op in new clothes. I e’en shaved my face. All right then, if ye think that’s best. When will she pick them op? Ah … weel, I’ll no be goin’ anawhere soon. That’s for certain.

 

“D’ye swear to me truly, as ye’re fine? Frank didna beat ye, did he? Good. Afore ye say g’bye, ye ken as I love ye, aye?”

 

I couldna help smilin’ as she told me she loved me still.

 

I handed the thin’ back to Bayne. “Claire says she’d like to speak to ye.”

 

**# # # # #**

Jamie sounded in good spirits despite being incarcerated, but then, this jail was a far cry to what he’d been accustomed to. It probably felt more like a vacation to him. At any rate, he apparently was weathering the storm more cheerfully than I was.

 

After talking to officer Bayne, I hung up the phone, and not a minute too soon, I might add. Frank was in the hall, keying the lock.

 

Staggering into the room, he plopped himself next to me on the edge of the mattress. “Still here, I see,” he mumbled, his words slurring.

 

“Not hard, considering you locked me in here.”

 

He tossed his head. “Is that so? Well, I almost expected to see the sheets knotted together and dangling from the casement. Not too enterprising are you?”

 

I scooted away from his side a little and folded my hands in my lap. Frank reached over and touched me, fingering the wedding band that Jamie had given me. “What’s this cheap piece of jewelry doing on your finger?”

“Jamie gave it to me.”

 

“Take it off.”

 

“I will not.”

 

Frank, grabbed the ring and yanked it off my finger. Flinging it across the room, the pewter band bounced on the floor, finally rolling beneath the dresser.

 

“No!” I screamed at him. Down on my hands and knees, I scrambled along the carpet, brushing my hands under the dresser, searching for it.

 

With tears in my eyes, I found it and scooped up the symbol of my love for Jamie, slipping it once more onto my finger.

 

The words were hard in coming, but I said, “Frank, I can’t stay here in this room with you. You can see that it’s impossible. I need to be alone. Can you see if Mrs. Baird has another? I’ll pay for it of course.”

 

Leaning back onto his elbows, his head jiggled from side to side, as he smugly inquired, “And how do you propose to do that? You haven’t so much as two pennies to rub together.”

 

“I’ll get a job; I’ll wash dishes … anything. I’ll pay you for the price of the room, I promise.”

 

“You promise … what about, love, honor and obey? Were they not promises you made to me as well?”

 

“That was a long time ago. We’re not the same people, Frank.”

 

“And whose fault is that? I don’t remember going anywhere, so if I’ve changed, it’s due to your faithlessness.”

 

“You said once that if I had been unfaithful, that you could forgive me.”

 

Frank poked his finger toward me in accusation. “That was during the war. I could make allowances during the war, but not now. I don’t think I can ever forgive you. You’re worse than a whore. At least you know who you’re lying with in that case. You don’t open your heart to her so willingly, only to have it ripped from you, and crushed to oblivion. I trusted you, and you betrayed that trust.”

 

“What do you want from me, Frank?”

 

“I don’t know. Maybe I should talk to a lawyer and be rid of you.”

 

“Perhaps you should. In the meantime, I wish to have a room of my own. If you won’t do it, then I shall.”

 

He picked up the phone and threw it crashing to the floor. “Do what you want. That always was your way, wasn’t it? Take the damn suitcase with you when you leave also. I don’t relish seeing your clothes lying about.”

 

**. . . . .**

 

Mrs. Baird looked at my drunken husband swaying precariously in the doorway of one room, and after unlocking the adjoining one, handed the key to Frank. She gave us a quizzical look, but turned and walked down the stairs to the reception area. I could just imagine what she was thinking, but actually didn’t give a fig about it. I took in my discarded clothes and the suitcase, shoving them inside the closet. My insufferable companion followed until I shut the door, and then—as he did previously—locked it.

 

In the evening, Frank rapped on the wooden panel. “I brought you some dinner.”

 

The door opened and he walked in carrying a tray which he laid on the dresser. He exited the room promptly, relocking me away in my prison.

 

Surprisingly, exhaustion set in and I slept soundly. When morning dawned the next day, I hopped out of bed and tapped on the double door dividing the two rooms. Frank … can you please let me out. I’d like to go downstairs and get some breakfast.”

 

His voice boomed, “I think not. I’ll bring something up to your room.”

 

“This is utterly absurd. If you’re going to divorce me, then for heaven’s sakes, why can’t I leave this blasted room?”

 

“Until I can contact a lawyer, and before I return to Oxfordshire, you’ll stay in that room, because I _bloody_ well wish it. You and your Scottish lover can languish in misery for the interim. I will not tolerate you running back to him the minute my back is turned.”

 

I banged on the room access in frustration. “Franklin Randall—let me out of here. Do you hear me? Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. If I get my hands on you, I will _bloody_ well throttle you.”

 

“Save your breath. I’m going down to breakfast.”

 

Kicking the door in response, I screeched, “Ugh! You arrogant … _Sassenach_.”

 

I sighed in defeat, and returned to the bed, flopping upon it. I heard his footsteps as he sauntered down the hall and quickly grabbed the phone, dialing Mrs. Baird.

 

“Good morning, Mrs. Baird. Can you please put me through to Reverend Wakefield? It’s urgent that I speak to him.”

 

“Aye, Lass. I didna want to pry my nose into yer affairs, but I must say as I think it best to have a chat with the vicar. Dinna give op hope. Many a marriage can be saved by listenin’ to the words o’ a spiritual advisor. But ye know, it’s only the drink. It’s a shame that so many couples that were once in love are torn apart by the bottle.

 

“I’ll put ye through to him right quick. Oh, here comes the mister. I’ll not say a word about this. Good luck to ye, Mrs. Randall.”

 

The phone rang on the other end, and luckily for me, the vicar’s housekeeper, Mrs. Graham answered. “This is Mrs. Graham speakin’. I’m verra sorry but the reverend is out and about visitin’ his parishioners. Somethin’ I can do for ye?”

 

“Yes, thank god. Mrs. Graham, I don’t really need to talk to the Reverend; you are the very person I need to speak to. This is Claire Randall, do you remember me?”

 

“Aye, indeed. The police and your husband searched the hills hereabouts for ye. Glad to see that you made it home. Were you kidnapped, then?”

 

“Hardly. You better sit down, Mrs. Graham.”

 

“Why dinna ye call me, Hannah, and may I call ye, Claire?”

 

“All right then, Hannah. I’ll get to the core of it. What do you know about the standing stones at Craigh na Dun?”

 

“Are ye sayin’—?”

 

“Yes, it’s true. I traveled to 1743, but now I’m back. I fell in love with a Highlander there named Jamie Fraser. I was forced to marry him, even though I was in fact, already married. The problem is, he found out my secret … that I had a husband here. He wanted to do the right thing, and return me to Frank. He made every effort, but couldn’t let me go, and traveled with me here, and now he’s been jailed at the 12th precinct. You’re the only one that will believe me, and quite possibly be willing to help. I’m desperate. Frank has locked me in a room at Baird’s Bed and Breakfast. I’ll try to escape, but I don’t know how long that will take.”

 

There was a brief silence, and then Hannah, said, “Just tell me what I can do for ye, Claire.”

 

“Jamie agreed to have you pick up his sporran, and weapons. There’s a dirk, sgian dubh, and sword. Could you do that? And could you please keep them at your flat until I call for them?”

 

“That seems simple enough. But how, may I ask are ye goin’ to extricate him from the jail?”

 

“I’m going to the precinct as soon as I get away from Baird’s, and convince the officers that I’m not off my trolley, as Frank suggested. Maybe when they see I was never abducted, then they’ll let Jamie go.”

 

“Where will ye stay after he’s freed?”

 

“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

 

“Claire … ye can stay wi’ me for a bit. No one need know. When the heat dies down, my cousin owns an out o’ the way cottage near the borderline o’ Inverness. It’s out in the woods, with no electricity nor runnin’ water, so no one would think to look there, I dinna expect.”  

 

“That would be perfect. Thank you, Hannah. I’ll pay you for your assistance, of course.”

 

“I’ll no accept it. I’m only too glad to help ye. It’s the Christian thin’ to do. I’ll go to the station this afternoon and collect those belongin’s. I’ll let the vicar know as I’ve errands to run. It’s no really a little white lie, for this _is_ an errand … of great importance.”

 

“You have no idea how much this means to me.”

 

“Think nothin’ o’ it. I’ll let ye go now, as ye’ve got some serious plannin’ to do.”

 

“Goodbye, Hannah. And thank you again. I’ll see you as soon as I can. Oh, how stupid of me; your address …”

 

**. . . . .**

 

Part of my burden lifted as I got off the phone with that good woman. The pieces of the plan were falling into place quite nicely. And to think, Frank inadvertently helped in my clandestine endeavor by appearing at Baird’s, totally pissed the night before.

 

When he arrived at my threshold with the food, I asked, “Can you at least get me some books or magazines so I won’t die of boredom?”

 

Dropping the tray onto my outstretched hands, he turned and in a huff, slammed the door shut. A few minutes later, two magazines and a volume of _War and Peace_ thudded to the floor, as he tossed them through a crack he’d opened in the doorway. Lovely … Could the man possibly act any more juvenile?

 

The walls were paper-thin, and I heard every move Frank made, from humming while he shaved, to showering, to talking on the telephone. Drat the man, would he never leave the room except to eat? I’d never get out of here at this rate. I had to stop feeling sorry for myself though. There was my poor Jamie befuddled by his surroundings, veritably drowning in a flood of queer inventions. Besides, I had to wait for Hannah to get her hands on my Scotsman’s meager possessions, or I could do nothing, no matter how much time I had to proceed with my idea.  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Pawning the Goods

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**. . . . .**

I woke op from a nap, hearin’ a woman’s voice out in the other room, and my name bein’ bandied ’bout. Perchance she was the person as Claire said she would send to take my weapons and such with her. Leastways, the woman was brought to my cell by Duncan, and so I stood next to the barred door to speak to her.

 

She was an older lady, shorter than my Sassenach, wi’ brown hair, cut short, and a twinkle in her hazel eyes. She came nearer to the bars, and winkin’ at me, said, “Jamie, d’ye remember me? I’m yer Aunt Hannah. I havena seen ye since ye were a wee bairn. Sorry I am, to see ye in such a place. Yer grandmother sent me to fetch yer things, as soon as she heard about the scrape ye’re in. Is that all right wi’ ye?”

 

“Aye. Truth be told, I was expectin’ as much.”

 

Duncan stepped back and left us alone.

 

Hannah, closed in tighter, wi’ her head canted to reach my ear. She spoke in whispers. “Claire called me this mornin’. It’s true then? Ye came through the stones?”

 

“To be sure. And now, I’m here, locked op like a caged animal.”

 

Hannah smiled, lookin’ me op and down, and told me. “I can certainly see why the lass fell for ye. It was a sin since she was already married, but I guess Frank hadna actually been born yet … a technicality, if ye will.

 

“I havta tell ye, as I always thought Claire was a bit much for Frank. The man was too stodgy, a lot older than she was as weel. He was pokin’ about in history and genealogy, a most borin’ subject in my mind. I expect that you and Claire had a rollickin’ time, maybe not that it couldna be dangerous, but still ... Never a dull moment, aye?”

 

I laughed at the expression on her face. Her eyes were big and round as oatcakes, her brows raised an inch.

 

“No wi’ Claire about. That woman bears watchin’. I hadta have eyes in the back o’ my head, for fear she’d op and run away. And run away she did on so many occasions, ’til this time as I was runnin’ away wi’ her.”

 

Her eyes still wide wi’ wonder, she asked, “Ye might say, I’m a wee bit curious. What was it like … traveling through time, I mean?”

 

“It was verra disconcertin’. When I held onto Claire’s hand, it was as if a strong wind carried us both to the other side, and I couldna fight agin it. Then, I found myself sprawled about on the hill like a flounderin’ haddock. Dizzy I was as weel, and at first I thought I had fallen asleep, and it was but a dream. And then, I didna believe we had left 1743 atall. But as ye ken, there were movin’ mechanical beasts on the road to Inverness, and I coudna deny it any longer, for I’d seen them wi’ my own eyes.”   


“Oh aye. That must’ve given ye quite a fright.”

 

“A fright? I almost expected my hair to turn white wi’ the shock o’ it.”

 

Hannah shook her head in awe. “Such a grand story to tell to yer bairns some day … Weel, I best be on my way. I’ll be keepin’ yer things at my flat; Claire said she’d come for them as soon as she can sneak away from Frank.”

 

“Thank ye, Hannah. My pleasure to meet ye.”

 

“Mine as weel.”

 

As she turned to leave, I blurted, “Wait … Hannah … would it be much trouble to take my clothes wi’ ye as weel? And can ye ask Duncan to bring the chess board wi’ him come evenin’? I may give him another chance to beat me.”

 

“I’ll do that, Jamie, gladly.”

 

I pulled my kilt, boots, and all the rest from the cloth bag I was storin’ them in, and passed them to her through the bars. As I did so, it seemed like a part o’ me was leavin’. I had to trust as I would be wearing them again, soon. The new clothes as I was wearin’, fit my body, but weren’t a right fit for my soul, if ye take my meanin’. I was a Highlander, thru and thru, not a preenin’ peacock, and I make no apologies ’bout it.

 

**# # # # #**

My prediction proved to be true, I was bored to tears, sitting in that stuffy, little, confining space, with nothing to do except read and wishing that my implacable first husband would unlock the bloody door. I didn’t understand his rationale for keeping me here. He was a bad as Colum … worse, because he, of all people, should’ve known better. It was spite—pure and simple. If he couldn’t have me heart and soul, then he didn’t want my Scotsman to have me either. Well, we’d see about that. I would break my sweet Scotty out of jail if it was the last thing I ever did.

 

The day went by as slow as blackstrap molasses in January. I was so anxious, I kept putting my ear against the wall to ascertain what Frank was up to, hoping that I could go to Hannah’s tomorrow and retrieve Jamie’s gear, and so get on with my precarious scheme. If I couldn’t discover Frank’s schedule, then I was out of luck. It wouldn’t do for him to come back to my room to find me gone, at least not until I had my Highlander in tow.

 

As it was, my erstwhile spouse hadn’t budged an inch after our supper victuals. He wasn’t a prisoner, so why couldn’t he leave for a while? I could just visualize the smug expression on his face, knowing that I was trapped.

 

**. . . . .**

The next morning finally gave me the break I was looking for. Frank brought me my food as usual, and told me, “Mrs. Baird will have someone bringing you lunch. I have some business to attend to. I’ll be back by dinner time with some documents for you to sign.”

 

Tossing my head saucily, I spouted, “Don’t hurry back on my account.”

 

He gave me a bone-chilling glare and left. I waited a couple of minutes after his footsteps faded, and was on the phone pronto.

 

“Mrs. Baird. I’m so sorry to bother you again, but could you put me through to Reverend Wakefield once more. Oh … and when I’ve finished my call, I’ll need you to open my door. I feel rather silly. Frank left, and locked it, taking the key with him.

 

“Thank you so much.”

 

I crammed my clothes back into the suitcase, leaving it by the door so I could grab it in a hurry.

 

**. . . . .**

“Hannah? Frank will be gone for hours, so I thought I could come by and get Jamie’s things.

 

“That’s fine, as long as someone’s there to see to it. I’ll be going to the station first to get him out of there. Probably in an hour or so. And Hannah … thank you for your help.”

 

There was a hesitant rap on the door, and a distinct click as the tumblers turned inside the lock. I heard “May I?”

 

“Come on in, Mrs. Baird.”

 

She poked her head in through the opening. Her face flushed violently, as she said, “I know it’s none o’ my business, but I can guess as yer husband locked ye in here. D’ye want me to call the police?”

 

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll be going to the precinct myself in just a tic. I think I can handle the situation.”

 

“All right if ye think as much, but I’m just down the stairs if ye’re in need o’ me.”

 

**. . . . .**

 

The way to the 12th precinct wasn’t far from the hotel. The weather was calm, and the air was refreshing after being cooped up for the last two days. It felt good to move my legs and stretch them out also. I’d been used to walking up hills and dales around the countryside, and my muscles welcomed the effort.

 

In my travels, I stopped to peruse a window at a pawn shop. How convenient. I noticed archaic and modern weaponry, musical instruments, jewelry, and loose coins, arranged on velvet fabric. Since the place seemed to cater to the history buffs, perhaps they would be agreeable to take Jamie’s belongings as well.

 

I reached the station in ten minutes, and walked in, rehearsing in my head what I would say to convince the men to let _my_ man go free.

 

Bayne looked up from his desk when he noticed my entrance.  “Mrs. Randall, isn’t it?”

 

I put down the travel case I was carrying. “Yes, but not for long. My husband is divorcing me.”

 

Bayne sat like a bloated toad, rolling his eyes about in his head. “What has this got to do wi’—”

 

Placing my hands on the desk, I leaned across it. “If you’ll let me finish … I’ll make this brief. I came here for the express purpose of freeing Jamie. Just as you suspected, I was not snatched off the street by Mr. Fraser. We were having an affair. So, as you can see, you have no reason to keep him imprisoned.”

 

“That doesna match the story yer husband told us.”

 

“Well, if in fact I had been abducted, why would I come here to have him exonerated? Does that make sense to you?”

 

“We have to go by the report that was filed. If ye wish to change the facts o’ the statement, then ye’ll _have_ to bring Mr. Randall here to _corroborate_ it.”

 

 _Blithering idiot!_ “I don’t believe he would substantiate my claim.” I took a much needed calming breath and continued in another line of reasoning. “All right then, if I admit I was kidnapped, can’t I drop the charges?”

 

“That wouldna be possible ...”

 

“For heaven’s sake, why not?”

 

His face was turning crimson. “Because, dear lady, yer husband is the one pressin’ charges.”

 

“But I’m telling you, that I want Jamie out of that cell.”

 

He shook his head adamantly. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Randall, I canna do that.”

 

Removing my hands from the desk, they now whipped the air over my head in exasperation. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! What is wrong with you? Jamie did not kidnap me. I don’t understand … if I was the victim, why can’t I have you let him go.”

 

With his head bobbing up and down with each word, he fairly sputtered, “Like I told ye, Lass … unless yer husband comes wi’ ye and signs the release, then my hands are tied.”

 

“Bloody hell! This whole problem is the fact that I’m a woman. If I was a man, you’d bow and scrape and do what I said.”

 

Bayne gestured to two of the other officers, who now gravitated to either side of me. “Mrs. Randall ye’re gettin’ a bit testy, so if ye dinna mind, I’ll have these fine officers escort ye to the street. Now if Mr. Randall wants to come wi’ ye on yer next visit, ye’re welcome to come back. Only, if ye a mind to … be sure to bring him after the noon hour, as we’ll be at a funeral until then.”

 

When the two men started to grab my arms, I brushed them off. “I’ll see myself out.” I picked up my valise. “Good day, gentlemen,” I huffed, as I stormed out of the office. _Gentlemen my arse!_

**. . . . .**

I stopped a pedestrian outside the precinct to ask directions to Hannah’s place of residence. Unfortunately, it was quite a hike from the police station. Nevertheless, I was determined to get there as soon as possible, having such time constraints.

 

I had no idea of how long I had walked; although it seemed to me a century. I came to her home, and a daughter, who looked to be in her twenties, answered my knock. She’d been apprised of my imminent arrival and handed me a large haversack with all of my Scotsman’s accouterments, minus his clothes. In exchange, I gave her my luggage. I thanked the girl, leaving a message for Hannah stipulating that I might be in need of her hospitality this evening.

 

Trudging back to Cuthbert Street, I had time to wonder how on earth Jamie carted around all this stuff. His Claymore alone weighed at least three kilos. Lucky for me, my adrenaline was coursing through my circulatory system, giving me a much-needed dose of strength.

 

As I hurried along, I had to fabricate a story that would be believable enough to make the proprietor of the pawn shop feel compassion on me and give me what the possessions were worth.

 

**. . . . .**

 

“Good day to ye, Lass. I’m Mr. MacNab, the owner of this establishment. Might I be o’ some service to ye?”

 

“Thank you, yes. My grandmother is in need of some funds. My dear grandfather passed away two months ago, and as you can imagine, her small savings is close to being depleted. Would you be interested in what I have in my sack?”

 

“That all depends … what have ye got there?”

 

“It’s my great-great grandfather’s sword and dirk, and some old coins.”

 

Placing Jamie’s broadsword and scabbard on the counter, I noticed his eyes avariciously rake over the weapon. Of course, it didn’t look as old as some of the other weaponry on display. After all, it was only three days ago that it was in use.

 

“Weel, now, this piece is in fine condition. However did she manage to keep it so?”

 

“I really don’t know. Would you like to see the dirk?”

 

“Aye. If it's as fine as this one, I can give ye a fair price for it.”

 

After rummaging through the bag, I pulled out the sporran—sprinkling a few of the gold coins from it onto the counter for effect—and finally, the dirk.

 

Those coins clinched the deal; I knew MacNab, greedy as he was, wouldn’t be able to turn away from a bounty such as this. So far, my contingency plan was succeeding.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Pistol Packin' Mama

 

 

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**. . . . .**

 

“Is that all you can offer for them?” Good lord, the jokes about the Scotch being tight-fisted with their money wasn’t altogether a joke.

 

“Aye. Sorry, Lass, but I’ve been feelin’ the pinch since the war ended.”

 

“I’m sorry too.” I gathered up all Jamie’s things and began putting them back into the bag. “Maybe I’ll have better luck in Edinburgh.”

 

MacNab rubbed his chin. “Now—wait just a minute there. Let me reconsider. Hmn … All right, I’ll increase the price by ten percent. Would that be satisfactory to ye?”

 

“Indeed, it would.” I returned the empty sporran to the bag, shoving it in with his bandoleer, and belt.

 

Yes! That money would tide us through for more than a month until we could secure work. I strolled around the shop while he put the treasures behind the counter. That’s when I saw a glint of silver on a shelf against the wall. “Is that a German Luger?”

 

He winked, smiling at me. “It is. For a lass, ye do have a sharp eye for yer weaponry.”

 

This was indeed my lucky day. I had experience with the Luger, as several servicemen I had acquaintance with, came to appropriate the weapons from the hands of dead soldiers on the battlefields. They would show me the pistols and even give me some tips on firing one.

 

“I’d like to buy it. My husband is a historian and would enjoy owning one. Do you have a cartridge for it?”

 

“What use is the pistol wi’out ammunition?”

 

I nodded. “Sold …” 

 

**. . . . .**

 

My sack felt so much lighter with all the metal-works missing, and I, myself felt lighter knowing what my next move was. This situation definitely called for desperate measures.

 

Confidently, I sauntered into the station, my Luger safely hidden in the haversack. It was quiet in the office. Were they all at the memorial service like Bayne said? Not wanting to assume that the man at the desk was the only guard present, I asked, “Is officer Bayne around?”

 

I wanted to make entirely sure that the _Bayne_ of my existence wasn’t present.

 

“No, Lass. I’m the only one here. I’m Duncan, by the way.”

 

Just to be doubly certain, I inquired, “What about officer Strothers?”

 

“Sorry, everyone’s at a funeral for our late captain. I offered to stay and watch o’er the prisoner, but maybe I can help ye?”

 

Could the timing have been any more perfect? I fished about the inside of the bag, wrapping my palm around the handle of the gun.

 

“Yes, you most assuredly can. I’ll thank you to grab the keys to Jamie’s cell, and kindly let him out.”

 

The man leaned back in his seat and actually laughed. “What? You must be jokin’.”

 

I lifted the Luger from the sack and pointed it at his face. “Does this look like I’m joking? I asked you politely to get the keys. Now, do I have to get nasty? I assure you, this gun is loaded.”

 

Putting his hands up in surrender, Duncan stammered, “Hold on, hold on. I’ll get them for ye.”

 

“Good boy … and don’t do anything stupid. I wouldn’t want to waste a bullet on you. These were very expensive.”

 

Without putting the gun down, I walked behind the desk and watched as he drew out the keys from a drawer.

 

“Alright then, let’s go.”

 

**. . . . .**

Jamie practically jumped off the cot at our approach. “Claire! Have ye lost hold o’ yer senses?”

 

“Yes, I have. These idiotic twits wouldn’t release you. I tried to be reasonable, but they wouldn’t bloody well listen.”

 

Duncan had stopped in front of the jail cell, and I grew impatient. “What are you waiting for?”

 

I nudged him with the barrel of the pistol. “Go on, open it.” 

 

As he unlocked the door, Jamie backed up. Putting out my hand to Duncan, I said, “I’ll take those.”

 

With the keys in one hand and the Luger in the other, I yelled to Jamie. “Come on, Scotty. We’re going.”

 

He scooped up a pillowcase that was stuffed with clothes, I imagined, and walked toward the guard. “I’m mightily sorry ’bout this, Duncan. And I thank ye truly for yer kindness. I’ll miss our chess games, but as ye can see, the lass here is in a bit o’ a rush, and I’d best not keep her waitin’, ye ken.”

 

Gesturing with the pistol, I instructed the man, “I would most appreciate it if you’d get inside and sit on the cot.”

 

The man sighed. “Are ye sure ye wanta be doin’ this, Lass.”

 

“ _Aye_. Now, get moving.”

 

Duncan sauntered into the jail cell, and I locked the door. Handing the weapon to Jamie, I took his free hand, leading him to the outer door. Then locking it as well, I returned to the office and retrieved the sack.  Jamie dropped the Luger inside. We went out the back exit, and when we got far enough away, I threw the keys into some nearby bushes. _That should hold off the hounds for awhile._

# # # # #

 

Shockin’ it was to see my Sassenach aimin’ a gun at Duncan, but I expect she was at the end o’ her rope, ye might say. From the verra first time I saw the lass, I kent as she was brazen as well as clever, but god in heaven, she was a sight to behold this day. I wished to wrap my arms ’bout her, and lift her above my head in joyfulness, but truth be told, there was precious little time to waste in such trivialities, as we had to get to a place o’ safety afore the police came a’chasin’ after us.

 

We ran down the back alley at a full gallop for a couple o’ miles at least, then slowed as we appeared on the street agin, so as no to arouse suspicions. We walked a good ways, and finally arrived at a small home on Paisley Avenue.

 

A dark-haired, couthie lass came to the door and smiled at me. “You must be Jamie. Claire said you’d be by t’day. Come in, come in. My name’s MacKenna; I’ll show ye around the house, so ye can navigate more easily, as I havta be leavin’ for school shortly. Mum said for ye to make yerselves at home. She’ll be back around five or so. She left plenty of food for ye in the fridge, so dinna be shy about eatin’ some o’ it. There’s also clean sheets on the bed opstairs in the spare room.”

 

MacKenna showed us ’round the place, chatterin’ all the while. Amazin’ it was to see a privy right inside o’ the house. Imagine that! There was e’en a refrigerator like Claire had explained to me, and a big, black box made o’ iron to cook the food—a stove, I believe she called it. But most astonishin’ was a container o’ wood, with knobs decoratin’ the front, and when ye turned the knob, music came outta the thin’ ... such music as I ne’er did hear afore.

 

“D’ye have any questions then?” she asked, as the tour ended. Questions? My brain was fairly crammed wi’ the lot o’ them. Where would I e’en start? I’d be askin’ her ’til doomsday to explain this or that. The girl was anxious to leave tho’, so I kept my curiosity to myself for now.  

 

Claire answered her, “We won’t keep you. I have Hannah’s phone number if we need anything more.”

 

“Alright then, and just so ye know, I won’t be stayin’ here. I have my own flat, so ye can have some privacy. Mum just asked me to be here in case the two o’ ye showed op t’day. And right she was, eh?”

 

She shook our hands, and gushed, “Oh … this is all so romantic. If we dinna meet agin, then good luck to ye.”

 

"Thank ye, MacKenna. We’re verra appreciative o’ yer efforts in our behalf.”

 

Stars and stones, the lass talked so fast, and ne’er came op for a wee bit o’ air. She must’ve been excited to meet wi’ _two_ brigands. I said two, as Claire now joined the ranks wi’ me in runnin’ afoul o’ the law.

 

**. . . . .**

I watched as Claire removed thin slivers o’ meat, cheese, and some greens from the refrigerator, along wi’ some bread as was already sliced, from a small wooden cabinet.

 

She looked op at me from her task, and said, “Would you like some beans with your sandwich? I saw a can in the cupboard when MacKenna was showing us around.”

 

I was confused. I thought we were to eat promptly. “Aye. That would be grand, but won’t they take a verra long time to cook?”

 

One eyebrow quirked, and Claire responded thus, “Trust me … another modern miracle.”

 

She then took a cylinder down from the cupboard, and wi’ a verra peculiar metal tool, grabbed hold o’ the rim, and cut a circle in the top. There were beans inside, which she dumped into a pot, and put on the stove where flames rose op, heatin’ them.

 

Combinin’ the meats and such all t’gether, she placed the finished stacks on plates, along wi’ the beans, and we ate, side by side at the table. We toasted our new-found freedom wi’ glasses o’ milk, and as she said afore—it was as cold as a witch’s teat.

 

Wi’ the meal outta the way, all these emotions started boilin’ op inside me, and I thought my heart was wont to burst wi’ them. My Sassenach was wi’ me, and we were alone … the whole house to ourselves. What more could I ask? I winked at Claire, and her eyes answered my unspoken, heart’s yearnin’.

 

**# # # # #**

There was no need to ask what was on my Scotsman’s mind. He winked in his funny way, but his smile instantly changed, giving his features a seductive appearance. His smoldering eyes caught mine, and I surrendered without a fight. One hand enclosed about my wrist, and I was pulled from my chair and into his arms.

 

He took the stairs three at a time, carrying me all the way to the guest room, laying me on the mattress. I hadn’t made love in a real bed in so long, it almost seemed decadent. That thought was evacuated from my consciousness and replaced rapidly as our lips met.

 

It felt strange to unclothe using such modern fastenings. Jamie seemed familiar with the zipper, but the hooks and eyes on my brassiere were an obstacle that had him fumbling and cursing under his breath. I finally helped undo the obstinate closures, and nature took its course. We had all the time in the world to explore our bodies. Jamie’s fingers stroked along my skin with a reverence close to adoration.  He was so tender and sweet, and that afternoon of leisurely coupling would long linger in my mind.

 

Afterwards, Jamie asked about my recent days with Frank, and I recounted all the sordid details.

 

“He means to divorce ye, then.”

 

“Yes, he said he wanted to be rid of me.”

 

“Och … that thought isna verra likely to e’er occur to me. I doubt as I could live wi’out your love, or leastways _wish_ to live.”

 

He suddenly pulled up on one elbow. “God in heaven, if he’s divorcin’ ye, then ye’ll be mine—truly mine. All to myself. I dinna ken whether to laugh or weep wi’ the joy o’ it.” 

 

He sat up fully then, and leaned over me. Grabbing my face between his palms, he planted kisses all over it. “Ye’re mine, Claire … mine. And no one in this world can take ye away from me.”

 

**. . . . .**

Hannah came home from the manse, and from the look on her face as she walked through the front door, was glad to see we made it.  Jamie and I helped with dinner, and when it was over, and the dishes all washed and put away, we sat in the living room, chatting.

 

“Ye know, I tried to tell Mr. Randall that maybe ye’d gone to another time, but he wouldna believe any such foolishness. Ah, weel, I suppose that’s water under the bridge as they say. So now, ye say he’s filin’ for divorce?”

 

“Yes, not that I blame him. But it’s not like I did this on purpose. I didn’t plan on any of this happening, and it wasn’t my fault that Dougal forced Jamie and me to marry.”

 

Hannah nodded, then spoke to my Scotsman. “What about you, Jamie. What d’ye make of all these goin’s on?”

   

“Weel, I’m just glad as Claire fell through the stones, and accepted me for her husband. She made me the happiest man in the Highlands. Now as Frank is lettin’ her go, the guilt as plagued her isna more. We can go on wi’ our lives as we like, free o’ that man.”

 

“I’ve ne’er had such a stimulatin’ conversation, but ye’re probably tired of my questionin’.”

 

She got up and turned on the radio. Jamie sat there on the couch, smiling and tapping his foot to the melody. He was enjoying the music when our hostess said, “How d’ye like our modern music, Jamie?”

 

“I like it fine. Lots o’ instruments and lively tunes.”

 

 _Sentimental Journey_ started to play, and I jumped up, wanting to dance.

 

Jamie looked up at me, I’m sure, wondering why I was standing there.

 

I gestured to him, my arms extended. “Dance with me?”

 

His face flushed, and he glanced at Hannah, who mouthed, “Go on.”

 

“I dinna think I can, Sassenach. I ne’er danced to such music as this, afore.”

 

“Oh, come on, Scotty. It’s not that hard. I’ll teach you.”

 

And so, an introduction to ballroom dancing began this evening, and Jamie took to it like a duck to water.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Music Box

 

 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander.     Banner by LOS 

**. . . . .**

Jamie stood beside me, as I gave instructions. Starting out, I showed him the basic box step. After that, I extended my hand for him to take and said, “Now your other hand goes around my waist.”

 

I finished by placing _my_ other hand at his shoulder. We began dancing, and I was surprised at how quickly he caught on. The next song followed, _Moonlight Serenade_. Glenn Miller was a favorite of mine, and this song, in particular, was dear to my heart. It was the epitome of my era. I pressed my cheek to his chest, lost in the moment.

 

“Sassenach,” he announced, “I think I like this modern dancin’. It’s like fencin’, only wi’ out the swords.”

 

I laughed, and so did Hannah.

 

“Did I say somethin’ funny?”

 

We both nodded.

 

“I meant, ye ken … the way ye move yer feet sideways, and such.”

 

“For a big Scotsman, ye’re so cute! And ye learned the steps quick as ye please. They’ll be callin’ ye _Twinkle Toes_ before ye know it,” Hannah exclaimed.

 

Jamie blushed scarlet, and I smiled at his sudden shyness.

 

The tune ended, and I must’ve pouted, because Hannah declared, “I have that record upstairs. D’ye want me to bring it down? It’s no trouble. The gramophone’s over on the console.”

 

Clapping my hands, I replied, “Oh, Hannah. That would be lovely.” 

**. . . . .**

We danced to Glenn Miller again; Hannah replaying it several times for us. Then Jamie offered his hands to our friend, and it was so sweet watching the two of them sway to the music.

 

She plopped back down onto the settee afterward. “Thank ye, Jamie. Gracious, I havena danced like that in years.”

 

“I hope we’re not being a nuisance,” I said, grimacing.

 

“Oh, pshaw. It was a favorable wind that blew ye my way. It’s lonesome here what wi’ my daughter at her own flat and all. So, I am enjoyin’ your company. I better be off to bed now, though. I havta be at Reverend Wakefield’s to serve him breakfast in the mornin’. Heaven forbid as his food should be late.”

 

Hannah walked part way up the stairs and waved. Jamie waved back, “G’night, Hannah! And sweet dreams to ye.”

 

**# # # # #**

I thought as the radio was a verra astonishin’ thin’, but it couldna compare with the music box. Hannah put a flat, black disc on the wee spindle, and it spun round and round, an arm wi’ a needle attached ridin’ on the grooves. And the tune ... I could listen to it all the day long. That Miller person was a grand artist. No wonder Sassenach loved it so.

 

Dancin’ wi’ my Claire was a joyful experience. I liked this new kind o’ dancin’ where ye got to hold yer woman so close to yer heart. And it dug op the tenderest o’ feelin’s, especially when she leaned her head opon my chest. God in heaven, I nearly felt my insides turn to parritch.

 

Claire and I were goin’ op the stairs a few minutes after Hannah. It’d been a busy day for us. The tune was now stuck inside my head, and so we both hummed it wi’ our arms ’bout each other, steppin’ lightly all the way to our room.

 

**# # # # #**

Breakfast was fast, and once again, Jamie was intrigued when I popped two slices of bread into the toaster; so intrigued, that I caught him on numerous occasions … bent over the toaster, pushing down the lever, and waiting for the pieces to show themselves above the slot. It was a surprise to him also, that the butter to put on them was cut into cubes and kept fresh in the refrigerator.

 

We were just finishing up the cleaning of the kitchen when the phone rang. It was Hannah with some news.

 

“Claire, yer husband was here, asking if we’d seen ye. I think it’s best if ye stay in the house, or in the backyard for now. No one will spot ye there. As ye might expect, some snoopy neighbor could catch sight of ye, and news travels fast as ye weel know.

 

“It may havta be a week or so for ye to hide out at my house, then I’ll take ye to my cousin’s cottage in the woods. Sorry I am as there’s no heatin’, plumbin’ nor electricity there.”

 

“Hanna, don’t worry about it. I’ve lived like that for the last several months. I’m used to it, and it’s all Jamie’s ever known. We’re very grateful, and believe me, we’ll be fine.”

 

**. . . . .**

Three days had flown, and I dare say it was so relaxing, not having to fight for our lives for once. On the other hand, I was becoming somewhat restless. By this weekend, Hannah said, it would be safe to make the transition to living at the cottage, and I was more than ready.

 

It was a little past five o’clock, and I’d taken a roast and some potatoes out of the oven. Jamie had never eaten potatoes before, with or without sour cream and chives.

 

He poked at the tuber. “What did ye say this vegetable was?”

 

“It’s a potato, and it’s very versatile. You can mash, boil, bake or fry them. You may even say it’s a Scottish mainstay now, like oats or barley once was.”

 

Jamie poked at it again.

 

“Here, let me show you.”

 

I brushed his hands aside, and then with my knife and fork, cut a cross in the middle, and pushed at the sides with both my thumbs and index fingers. The interior of the vegetable squeezed out over the top in a mound of white. I added a dollop of the cream and sprinkled it with the chives.

 

“Dig in, Scotty. You’ll find it extremely palatable.” 

 

**. . . . .**

 

The minutes ticked on by and I began to get apprehensive. Hannah still hadn’t made it home yet. My heart was a block of ice; my mind conjuring up a scenario of the police interrogating her, or Frank backing her into a corner. Good lord, if the police were involved, would they recognize her as the lady who retrieved Jamie’s personal effects from the precinct?

 

Jamie had been at the desk reading a history book when he gazed up from the pages at me. I must’ve looked pretty upset, because Jamie bounded over to where I was pacing, and grasped me by the shoulders. “Sassenach. What is it? Ye’re pale as a ghost.”

 

“I’m concerned about Hannah. She’s never been this late. I’m afraid the police might have her. And if that’s the case, they’ll recognize her from the day she visited you.”

 

“There’s no need to fret. Worryin’ o’er what might be, canna make it so. If the police come, weel … ye didna shoot the man, did ye?”

 

“No … but I certainly threatened him. And you’re living proof that I broke you out of jail.”

 

“Aye. That much is true.”

 

Wrinkling his brow, he asked, “You didna actually mean to shoot the man tho’, did ye?”

 

I laughed humorlessly. “No telling what I was capable of that morning.”

 

Jamie grinned despite my distress. “Woman, ye were a sight to behold. Truth be told, I wondered at the time if ye were ’bout to pull the trigger.”

 

“At any rate, what are we going to do if the police barge through her front door?”

 

“Go out the back door, I expect. It willna be the first time I hadta run from the law.”

 

His hand rested on my shoulder for a moment. “Come sit down, Claire. I’m sure she’ll be home soon.”

 

He led me to the couch and drew my head to his shoulder. I no sooner let out a sigh, then the doorknob turned, and Hannah walked in.

 

With one look at my distraught features, she apologized.

 

Hannah explained as she took off her coat, hanging it on a hook by the door. “Oh my. I didna mean to be gone so long. I went to my cousin’s and made arrangements for ye to move into the cottage. He’ll see to it that it’s outfitted with cookin’ supplies, firewood, and some groceries.”

 

“Ah, that’s verra kind o’ ye, Hannah, but I must insist on payin’ ye for the food and such.”

 

With a twinkle in her eyes, she acquiesced, “This time. I’ll let ye.

 

“Have ye eaten yet?”

 

“Aye. Claire put it back in the oven to keep it warm for ye.”

 

**. . . . .**

 

Curious, I asked Hannah about the hideaway that she had talked about.

 

“It isna anathin’ special to speak o’. The house is small, faced wi’ stone. I believe it was built in the late seventeen hundreds and remodeled in 1920. There’s no modern conveniences, but it’s back in the woods aways, where no pryin’ eyes can see ye. I’ll be sure that there’s some logs for the fireplace and the wood-burnin’ stove. My cousin’s son can do that for us. He’ll put a cord in the shed.”

 

“Won’t he get suspicious?”

 

“He doesna need to know who’ll be there. I’ll tell him it’s for a friend who’s hidin’ from her ex-husband. Not far from the truth, aye?” She leaned toward us conspiratorially, and in a whisper, added, “That way, we can keep it our own little secret.

 

“There’s a bathtub … of sorts, but the water has ne’er been turned on in years. I feel bad sendin’ ye out there on yer own. The only good bit is no one would think to search for ye in that place, as they’d think ye were daft to live there.”

 

“My husband and the police already have that very thought in their heads, so it’s a moot point now.”

 

Jamie laughed at the conversation. “I can see as all these inventions have made yer lives more comfortable, ye ken, but they’ve also made ye a wee bit soft as weel. It wilna make me suffer atall to be wi’out stoves, refrigerators, and toasters. I believe I would feel right at home. I might be missin’ the radio and the music box tho’.”

 

This time Hannah and I laughed.

 

“Oh, Jamie, I’m sorry to say I’ve ruined ye for sure.”

 

He shook his copper mane. “Nay. Sassenach has told me as I need to expand my horizons. And I expect as ye’ve doon just that, Hannah.”

 

**# # # # #**

That verra Saturday, Claire and I packed up what belongin’s we had, along wi’ somethin’ I should’ve thought ’bout.

 

“Hannah, ye said there’s nay runnin’ water at the cottage. D’ye have an old bucket or pot that ye’re no reluctant to part wi’?”

 

She canted her head, tryin’ to puzzle it out, I expect. “I may have one or two in the tool shed, why?”

 

“To put it delicately, we may need it at night when nature calls.”

 

Smiling, Hannah replied. “Oh, aye. I see what ye mean. That would be a necessity, considerin’ the commode isna functional at present.”

 

I went wi’ her to pick out a pan for such a purpose and found one right quick. I hoped to god as we had ever’thin’ we now needed to set op housekeepin’.

 

**. . . . .**

Afore I could forget, I had my Sassenach sort out the payment to offer Hannah for all the supplies and such. I didna ken how to figure money as was made o’ paper, or how much to e’en pay the woman. Claire decided on the amount, and I was given the task o’ seein’ as she’d take it.

 

When the sun went down, we loaded the au-to-bo-bil wi’ our provisions, and once more I was subjected to the suffocatin’ walls o’ the modern cart. We left that night, as Hannah supposed the darkness would shield us from anyone watchin’.   



	10. A Cottage in the Woods

 

 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander.     Banner by LOS 

**. . . . .**

 

The house was just as Hannah described it, a quaint little stone cottage hidden in the woods. I almost expected Snow White to come to the door and shake out the rugs. It was primitive to be sure, but as long as Jamie was with me, I didn’t mind.

 

We got out of the car and walked up to the entrance. Hannah continued to apologize about the lack of amenities, but as the saying goes, beggars can’t be choosers.

 

“Kyle told me he put two oil lamps on the desk in the livin’ area and some candles in a kitchen cupboard. Ye’ll havta do wi’ cookin’ yer perishables when ye get them, since there’s no refrigerator to keep it from spoilin’.”

 

“Aye … just like home.”

 

As we entered the house, Hannah panned her torch across the living area and touched upon the oil lamps. She handed the torch to Jamie and reached into her pocket. Pulling out a book of matches, she lit the wick with one of them, placing the remaining on the desk, and suddenly a flood of light illuminated our surroundings. As I peered around the interior, I exclaimed, “Oh, Hannah. This place is charming. I feel as if I’m in a fairytale.”

 

Hannah quirked an eyebrow. “What wi’ yer prince here, I’d hazard a guess to say, ye are ... for a few days, anaways. Ah, weel, sad to say, real life will creep op on ye in the blink o’ an eye, so enjoy it while ye can.

 

“Speakin’ o’ real life … I hope I’m no bein’ too nosy, but d’ye think ye can find a way to make a livin’.”

 

I shrugged, confident in my abilities. “I should have no trouble. I was a nurse, and there’s always a need for that.”

 

She turned her attention to Jamie. “And what d’ye think ye’ll be doin’?”

 

Jamie scratched his head. “I suppose there’s nay callin’ for a highland warrior, aye?”

 

“There must be somethin’ ye’ve done in the past that’s as valuable today?”

 

My eyes rolled involuntarily. “Cattle rustling?” Then an idea popped into my head. “No … wait.” I glanced at Jamie who was still scratching his head. I hoped to god he didn’t have a case of lice again. “He was a boffin with horses—breaking, training them. Weren’t you, Jamie?”

 

My red-headed husband nodded.

 

“Horses, eh? I just happen to know if ye go down the road aways to the west, ye’ll see a farm there. Maybe ye can get taken on as a hand. Old MacGregor is gettin’ on in years, and his youngest son just got married and moved to Dunwall. He’ll be lookin’ for help.”

 

“Jamie, that’s a great idea.”

 

“I’ll see ’bout it, first thing in the morn.”

 

Hannah began to move a few steps back, toward the door. “I’ll be ’round on Tuesday to see how ye’re gettin’ on. Oh, and ye can borrow my torch for a few days. I’ll not likely be needin’ it for awhile I’m sure. And another thin’—there’s a coach comes through these parts, but you’ll havta hike for a mile on the main road to the coach stop. It’s on the way to Inverness.

 

“I pray that’s ever’thin’ now. Weel, I’ll leave ye to unpack and settle in.”

 

Jamie gave her a bone-crushing hug. “Thank ye, Hannah, truly.”

 

Flustered, Hannah eeked out, “Oh my!”

 

Hugging her myself, I reiterated what Jamie had spoken, “You have no idea how much this means to us. We’re both very grateful.”

 

**# # # # #**

I set to work as soon as Hannah left. There was wood piled by the hearth, and a metal basket stocked wi’ kindlin’. My tinderbox was in the sack wi’ my kilt and so forth, but Claire took the wee booklet wi’ the sticks inside it— _matches_ , I believe she called them. The fireplace was cracklin’ wi’ flames in nay time atall.

 

With Hannah’s torch in my hand, I went outside to get some water. It was a stroke o’ luck as there was a weel on the east side o’ the house, and I filled and toted several buckets inside, to wash wi’ and clean dishes and such.

 

I canna say as I was sorry to be housed here. The forest was beautiful, and quiet, and private. And the bungalow was like bein’ at home. I was verra comfortable. I wondered tho’ if Claire felt as much.

 

“Claire, will ye be missin’ the toaster and the other thin’s? We dinna need to stay here for long if that’s so.”

 

“No, it’s really quite lovely here. And I don’t imagine it’ll take us more than a fortnight to find work. We can always have the electricity and water turned on when that happens. Maybe even a telephone installed.”

 

I brightened op considerably. “And a radio?”

 

“Yes, Scotty … a radio.”

 

“Good.”

**. . . . .**

 

After we put our belongin’s away, I took one o’ the lanterns and went explorin’ … pokin’ ’round drawers and shelves. I saw a square wooden container as looked like a music box, except it had a verra peculiar crank on the side o’ it, much like a brace and bit. Liftin’ the lid partially, I peeked inside, and lo and behold, it was a music box to be sure, but there was nay black cord on it for the electricity. I called to Claire, “Sassenach, what d’ye make o’ this?”

 

She came from the bedroom and stopped behind me resting her chin on my shoulder. “Oh, how lovely. It’s an old gramophone. I wonder if it still works.”

 

She walked ’round to my side and pushed the lid back as far as it would go. There was a note adhered to the inside as read: _Look in the second drawer of the desk._ The name as signed was none other than Hannah.

 

We both opened the drawer, and there was a black disc in a paper sleeve, such as I had seen afore at Hannah’s. Claire smiled, placed it on the spindle, and set the arm opon it. She turned the crank, and the music began playin’. It was the _Moonlight Serenade._

Claire reached her hands toward me and blew out the lamp. And that evenin’, by the flickerin’ o’ the firelight, we danced once more to Glenn Miller, in our wee home far away, tucked betwixt the trees o’ the forest, just me … with my Sassenach embraced in my arms.

 

**. . . . .**

I slept soundly ’til the sun came op. The birds were chirpin’ outside the bedroom window, and the sound was glorious. Glancing at my Sassenach beside me, all cozy-like amongst the blankets, put a smile on my face, and I was ready for the day.

 

After stokin’ and replenshin’ the wood on the hearth, I dressed and walked to the back o’ the cottage. I brought bits o’ twine wi’ me and gathered op leaves and branches, riggin’ a few traps for rabbits, squirrels and such. Then I returned to the house and my sleepin’ angel; gladness fillin’ my heart at the sight o’ her.

 

# # # # #

 

When my eyelids fluttered open, there was Jamie, leaning over me with a bright smile gracing his lips.

 

“Mornin’, Sassenach. Did ye sleep all right?”

 

“Yes, blissfully so, thank you.”

 

“I made ye some breakfast, and wi’out the toaster thin’.”

 

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I stretched and asked, “Well, Jamie, you’re starting to fit right into the twentieth century. However did you accomplish such a feat?”

 

“I speared the bread wi’ a sharp stick and turned it o’er the fire. I like this bread fine, but d’ye suppose, we can get any oatcakes?”

 

“I imagine they have some at the bakery. Maybe I can pick up some tomorrow.”

 

**. . . . .**

We had our breakfast of jellied toast, cheese, and sliced pears. A cup of tea with honey topped it off. Afterwards, I packed us lunches, then spread some of the money on the table, and explained the different denominations, handing Jamie what I thought would tide him over for the day.

 

I planned on taking the coach into Inverness, but Jamie balked when I suggested that he do the same. “Nay, I’ll no get into one o’ those contraptions. I’ll walk, if ye dinna mind.”

 

 _Stubborn man_ … “Keep the money with you anyway. You may very well have need of it.”

 

We walked along the graveled drive and onto Inverness Way. That’s where we would part company.

 

“Now, kiss me goodbye. I’m going to search out a clinic or a hospital to see if they’re doing any hiring. I should be back around 5:30 or so. I anticipate that we should both have good news.”

 

Jamie latched onto my lips with an alacrity that was mildly alarming. He pulled away, unwillingly, and gazed at me with sorrow-filled eyes. “I wish ye didna havta leave, Claire.”

 

“And I wish we _didna havta eat_ , either. Stiff upper lip now, chap. Let’s have a go, shall we?”

 

I marched away, but glanced over my shoulder once. Jamie was still watching me as I trekked toward the coach stop.

 

**. . . . .**

As soon as I got on board the coach, I asked the driver, “Can you possibly direct me to the nearest hospital?”

 

He squinted his eyes at me. “Ye’re not sick, are ye?”

 

“Not hardly. I’m looking for work. I’m a nurse.”

 

“Oh, aye. Just take yer seat, and I’ll stop the coach when we get there. It’s right along the highway, ye canna miss it.”

 

“Thank you, sir.”

 

**. . . . .**

The brakes squealed when we pulled to a stop at the curb. Everyone on the blasted vehicle looked my way when the driver announced, “Mercy Inverness Hospital for the lass wi’ the brown, curly hair.”

 

All eyes followed me as I slid across the seat to gain access to the aisle. I walked to the accordion door, averting my gaze from the curious passengers. I stepped down onto the sidewalk and took a deep breath. The large grey building loomed before me. Surely, I could find work in such a busy place.

 

**. . . . .**

 

One of the guards pointed out the personnel office, and I strolled forward, back straight, with an air of confidence. The woman behind the desk was a dour-looking thing, with frizzy grey hair, and eyes dull as dishwater.

 

“D’ye have an appointment with the head supervisor?”

 

“Um … no. I’m here to apply for a job, actually. I’m a nurse.”

 

She drew her horn-rimmed glasses down her long nose, peering over the top of them, assessing me. Pushing back her chair, she reached into a drawer and took out a bundle of papers. “Fill these out. And when ye’re doon, I’ll see if she’s ready to receive ye. I canna promise anathin’, ye understand. Ye just might havta come back next week, dependin’ on whether or no she needs any more nurses.”

 

I sat down and filled in all the required information, but skipped over marital status. If I signed it as Claire Fraser, there’d be no record of my nursing career in the combat zone. I had no license or proof of my services during the war on my person. Much as it galled me, I wrote in, _married_ , signed it, Claire Randall, and crossed my fingers that the documentation could be found.

 

Handing in the paperwork to the jaded receptionist, I sat once more awaiting my interview. Miss Frizzy got up from her chair and headed down the hall with the sheaf of papers clutched to her bosom. She returned two minutes later. “This must be yer lucky day. She’ll see ye now.”

 

**. . . . .**

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! The woman holding the title of head supervisor was a sister of Mercy … a nun. She looked none too merciful either.

 

“I’m Sister Mary Laberaux. You may sit, while I look over your qualifications.”

 

She thumbed through all the papers, licking her thumb every now and then, as she turned the pages.

 

Sister Laberaux executed an _ahem_ quite loudly, and said, “This is quite an impressive resume. Am I to assume that the contents are entirely truthful?”

 

The nerve of this woman. Was she calling me a liar? I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “Yes, ma’am, every word.”

 

“May I see your nurse registration?”

 

“Unfortunately, I haven’t one at present, but I’m certain you can procure it from the Midwifery Council at Oxfordshire.”

 

“I see … Mrs. Randall, in that case, I only have one more question to ask. Is your husband amenable to your working here?”

 

“Mr. Randall has nothing to say about my decision.”

 

The good sister canted her head. “And pray tell, why is that?”

 

“He’s filed for divorce.”

 

The woman frowned, virtually burning me with her accusing eyes. “I’m sorry then, Mrs. Randall, I don’t hire divorcees. That’s not the image I want to portray amongst my staff. Good day to you. Mrs. Turley will see you out.”

 

I stood, shaking with emotion, and attempting to modulate my voice. I wanted to throttle this woman. “Sister Laberaux. I need this job. Please say you’ll reconsider.”

 

Her face was immutable. “You should have thought of that before your marriage disintegrated, my dear. As I told you before, good day!”

 

  

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	11. Seeking Gainful Employment

 

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**. . . . .**

 

Bloody, insufferable rotter. And Jamie had to _ask_ why I had no connections with the Catholic Church? I stormed out of her office, cursing under my breath. Miss Frizzy, or Turley, or whatever the hell her name was, waved while I streaked on by. No wonder she was such a sour grape, having to associate with the undisputed _Queen of Mercy_.

 

I sailed through the hallways, with my head bowed. Just before reaching the lift, I literally bumped into a man clad in white. I peered up at him, and he blinked at me in recognition. “Claire?” he said.

 

“Dr. Tanner …”

 

His eyebrows shot up. “This is a pleasant surprise. I haven’t seen you since we collaborated during the war. Are you working here?”

 

“Not bloody likely.”

 

“With your experience and skills? I don’t understand; they need nurses here. Why would anyone be foolish enough not to hire you?”

 

“Her worship, the Mother _Superior,_ says I’d be a taint on the pristine reputation of the staff. I’m going through divorce proceedings, and apparently, everyone here is either blissfully married, or single, and pure as the driven snow.”

 

The good doctor chuckled. “I’m divorced myself, and thankfully, the old witch has nothing to say about it. I submit to a higher authority.”

 

His eyes darted to the door of the lift. “I wish I could chat with you a little longer, but I should get back to the clinic. Why don’t you come with me? It’s just right around the corner.”

 

He frowned in concentration. “Wait … here’s a clever idea … let’s have a bash at the Mother Superior, shall we? How would you like to be my assistant at the clinic?

That should make her repent of her decision.”

 

“Oh, Dr. Tanner, that would be lovely.”

 

“Claire, we’ve known each other far too long to be formal. Please … call me, Geoffrey.”

 

My feet began to feel lighter as we walked out to his vehicle and to the new job awaiting me. What a fortuitous turn of events.

 

**# # # # #**

I watched mo nighean donn walk away, and felt a heavy weight in my chest. It was a foolish fear I kent, to be sure, but my heart was still uneasy. I turned, trudgin’ along the road wi’ a hope to procure honorable employment. Scairt I was, as Claire might havta pay our way, and that fact was verra shameful to me. I could no be a drone. I’d worked all my life and I’d be damned afore I let my woman _keep_ me. How could I hold my head op, if I didna earn my own bread?

 

A good forty minutes or so passed I expect, afore I spotted farmland spread ’bout the land on either side o’ the road. I didna ken which farm bore the MacGregor name, so I searched high and low for some sign o’ horse corrals and such. The first one I set foot on, hadna any stables, nor the next one neither. So, I kept on, eyes sharp, and nose as weel. Bein’ near horses since a wee bairn, the smell o’ them was verra familiar to me, e’en comfortin’, ye might say.

 

There was nary a sign o’ horseflesh amongst the followin’ two, but I did see that some o’ the farms had a number o’ cattle, and I memorized the names above the gates in the event as MacGregor hadna need o’ my help. My period o’ cattle rustlin’ was no some o’ my proudest moments, but it did give me a bit o’ experience, aye?

 

As I was ruminatin’ over my less than illustrious thievin’ days, a young lad approached me; a big dog by his side, barkin’ as loud as ye please. The boy waved his hand at the beast and yelled, “Quiet, Brutus.”

 

He smiled at me, and said, “Hello, Mister. Ye’re lost, are ye?”

 

“Ye could say that, Laddie. I’m lookin’ for the MacGregor’s place. D’ye ken where it is, and if ye do, will ye be so kind as to point it out to me?”

 

“Oh, aye.” His index finger pointed to a farm a good ways down the road. “I should warn ye tho’, Mr. MacGregor is verra disagreeable, unless ye’re his kin. And sometimes, e’en then,” he muttered under his breath.

 

I nodded to him in gratitude. “Thank ye for the warnin’. I’ll take it under advisement.”

 

**. . . . .**

I took the steps op to the front door, and was surprised to be greeted by a lady, perhaps in the third decade o’ life. She was a plain woman with light brown hair and tired grey eyes. “What can I do for ye, sir?”

 

“Is this the MacGregor place?”

 

She looked me op and down. “Aye, and who is it that wants to know?”

 

“My name is James Fraser, and I’m lookin’ for work. I was told ye might be in need o’ a horse trainer.”

 

“My grandfather went into town. He’d be the one ye’d be speakin’ to. Nay tellin’ when he might return if he strays into a pub, so ye’d best come back tomorrow.”

 

“When d’ye think would be a good time?”

 

She huffed. “There’s ne’er a good time wi’ the auld man. He’s been in a bad humor since 1929.”

 

“Ah, I’ll choose my words wisely then.”

 

“Tomorrow.”

 

The woman closed the door and left me standin’ on the stoop, wonderin’ what to do next.

 

**. . . . .**

Time was a precious commodity, so I headed back to one o’ the farms I’d seen as was raisin’ cattle. Walking under an archway, I went to the door and knocked. A young miss o’ considerable beauty, and cheeky words, answered the door and was all smiles when she took a gander at me. I had to look away, so as no to be reddened clear to my hair roots.

 

She cocked one eyebrow, and said, “I imagine ye’re seekin’ for work. We could use a good-lookin’ fellow like ye to spruce op the place. So are ye?”

 

My brain seemed to be disconnected from my tongue. “Am I what?”

 

“Seekin’ for work, _Mr. Blue Eyes_.”

 

I cleared my throat and lied like a politician. “Nay. I just needed directions to the MacGregor farm.”

 

The lass pushed forward—a wee bit too close for comfort—and gestured to the road behind us. “It’s op aways beyond that hill. But are ye sure ye dinna need a job? I can call my da. He’s in the study goin’ o’er some papers.”

 

I stepped slowly backward. “I’ll just be on my way. Thank ye for yer trouble.”

 

“My pleasure. I hope to see ye again.”

 

I nodded and forced a smile. “Aye.”

 

I couldna get away fast enough. No sir, e’en if I could work on this estate, it wouldna be a good idea. The lass appeared to be more trouble than it was worth.

 

**. . . . .**

Thank god the next cattle station had a man already out in the fields. “I’m sorry, Lad, but I canna afford any hired help at the moment. I wish ye luck though. I hear MacGregor might need help since his son married and moved away.”

 

And so it went. I made a visit to nearly ever’ farm along the road, ’til I was too knackered to go any further. 

 

 My belly was grumblin’ by this time, and I sat back from the road under the shade o’ a dogwood, and ate the lunch as Claire made for me, my mind clouded wi’ doubt.

 

The last two farms I called on gave me the same response as t’others. Disheartenin’ it was.

 

I returned to the cottage and checked all my traps. Leastways, there’d be food on the table tonight. Two rabbits and a squirrel would be roastin’ on a spit when my Sassenach came home.

 

 **# # # # #**  


Everyone at the clinic was friendly, and more than welcoming. Tea and scones with clotted cream and cherry conserves came by on a trolley while I filled out the forms necessary. Having completed that task, one of the nurses showed me around and told me what my responsibilities would be.

 

The time flew, and Geoffrey refused to let me eat my prepared lunch. “This is a day to celebrate for both of us. I’m taking you to The Highland Inn … my treat.”

 

**. . . . .**

The dining area was crowded, and I marveled that we got seated so promptly. The mystery was solved, as the doctor appeared to have certain privileges, such as a standing order for a reserved table. A salad was served instantly, and once our forks dug into the bed of lettuce, the conversation flowed.

 

“I’ve never met your husband, and I guess now, I never will. Divorce is a big decision, but I’m certain he has his reasons. In my case, I was very seldom home. My wife was lonely, and felt abandoned.”

 

“That sounds reasonable. Similarly, Frank and I were so long apart, we were veritable strangers in our own marriage.”

 

“I imagine your Frank was somewhat changed after the war, as we all were, poor sod. Perhaps this is for the best.”

 

“Dr. Tanner …”

 

“Geoffrey … please …”

 

“Geoffrey, you need to be aware that I have a new man in my life—a Scotsman. We live together. Will that cast any bearing on your hiring me?”

 

“Life happens, and what occurs in your private affairs is no one’s business but your own. I’m not one to cast stones. As long as you remember how to use a stethoscope, that’s all that matters.” With a twinkle in his eyes, he added, “By the way, does this Scotsman make you happy?”

 

“Very.”

 

“Well, there you are. I want each of my staff to be happy. Welcome to _Glebe Street_ _Clinic._ ”

 

**. . . . .**

At the close of operating hours, I asked the receptionist where the nearest coach stop was. Dr. Tanner heard me, and said, “Claire, I’ll take you home today. You can ride the coach tomorrow.”

 

All the way to the cottage, I had time to ponder the events of the day. While I was successful in my job search, I speculated about whether or not Jamie had found anything suitable. It would be a blow to his pride if he came up empty-handed, especially since I would be ensconced in a useful occupation. He might even be jealous of my association with Dr. Tanner.

 

It was dusk when we rolled up onto the graveled drive to the house. Obviously, the absence of light coming from the interior would raise suspicion. I lied to the man. “It appears I have returned home before my fella.”

 

“It would _appear_ so. I’ll see you tomorrow, Claire.”

 

I reached for the door handle, and opening the passenger side, stepped out onto the driveway. With that, he pulled away, and onto the road. I walked into the house and was immediately assaulted by the aroma of meat cooking. The smell was heavenly. Jamie heard my footfalls and came in from the kitchen.

 

My first thought was, if he had time to gut and skin the animals I saw roasting over the fire on the hearth, then he was either home early because he found a job, or came home discouraged. Not wishing to diminish him in his own eyes, I tried to restrain my enthusiasm in announcing my news.

 

In three quick strides, Jamie was clutching me to his chest. “Welcome home, Sassenach. “Did ye find any work?”

 

“Yes, indeed. It was actually a fluke. I accidentally bumped into a doctor whom I assisted during the war, and he offered me a job. What about you?”

 

“Nay, no today, but I expect to speak to MacGregor on the morrow.”

 

I smiled, attempting to lighten the mood. “I’m sure he’ll offer you the position. No one is a better horse boffin than you are.”

 

“A boffin, ye say?”

 

“Yes. You know … an expert.”

 

He smirked at me, suddenly, twirling a tendril of my hair about his index finger. “Oh, aye. So, would ye say I was a boffin at makin’ love to ye?”

 

I raised both eyebrows. “That goes _without_ saying …”

 

He looked over his shoulder at the food still roasting. “The food willna be ready for awhile yet, I expect.”

 

 _Subtle, very subtle_.

 

He reached for my hand. Looked like dinner would bloody well wait for quite a while.

 

 

 


	12. MacGregor the Grump

 

 

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**. . . . .**

 

I lay awake that night, worrit as I wouldna find a source o’ income. What was I to do? I hadna horse, nor weapons, nor any o’ my kinfolk to succor me. I was obsolete as a jawbone in the World War as Claire was involved in. My pride was already takin’ a beatin’ and I hadna e’en been in this time for more’n a fortnight.

 

When Sassenach told me her news, I was truly glad for her, but as the night wore on, the writin’ was beginnin’ its march across the wall, if ye ken my meanin’. I prayed mightily that auld MacGregor would agree to hire me on. As much as I was displeased to think on it, I wondered if Claire would be best off wi’out me. I kent as she loved me, true enough, but love canna make op for a life lived in poverty. Her respect for me would be snuffed out much as a candle in the wind.

 

I felt like a millstone ’bout her neck. She was still young, and bonny. She could attach herself to someone worthy o’ her, someone able to provide for her needs.

 

I wouldna succumb to these dark feelin’s yet tho’. I’d try ever’thin’ in my power to be the man she needed me to be, and if I failed in the attempt, I resolved to leave her, heartbreak or no.

 

**. . . . .**

The next morn, after breakfast and Claire packed the lunches, I set out wi’ her to where the coach stopped. When it arrived, she got to the door. It opened, but there was no one there ... hmm … I saw her off and crossed the road to the opposite stop.

 

The wait wasna long, and soon I was aboard the coach. Claire showed me how much to give to the driver afore we left the house. Reaching down for my sporran, I colored, as I’d forgotten it wasna there. I handed him the money from a pocket, and he asked, “Where ye goin’, Lad?”

 

“MacGregor’s farm. Can ye take me there?”

 

“Aye. I know it well.”

 

I sat down and did ride all the way to MacGregor’s place.

 

**. . . . .**

The coach halted in front o’ the gate, and I watched to see how the door opened. The driver pushed on some sort o’ lever. Ah … so that’s how it was doon. Leastways, I kent it wasna fairies at work.

 

A grey-haired man was out in the field, pitchin’ hay o’er the fence for his milk cows. I waved, halin’ him as I walked through the gate. He threw down the fork and strode toward me.

 

His face was set in a scowl. “Who are ye, and what are ye doin’ on my property?”

 

“My name is James Fraser. Didna yer granddaughter tell ye I’d be by t’day?”

 

“Nay. And I’m busy—no time to talk, so goodbye to ye.”

 

“Wait … I’m lookin’ for work. Would ye be in need o’ any?”

 

He placed his hands opon his hips. “Did I hear ye right? D’ye say yer name is Fraser?”

 

“Aye. Ye’ve had acquaintance wi’ some Frasers, have ye?” I smiled, thinkin’ he might look favorably on me. I thought wrong.

 

“Och … so I have.  I dinna fancy handin’ a scrap o’ work to a Fraser. My family’s been stung many a time by yer damn Fraser clan, and I dinna expect to fare much better wi’ the likes o’ ye.”

 

I stretched out my arms, pleadin’ wi’ the man. “Please … ye can see I’m too young to have wronged ye. I’m good wi’ horses, and I need the work. I’ve come such a long way to see ye.”

 

“Aye, so ye best get started to return to whence ye came. Ye stated yer business, so be on yer way.”

 

“But …”

 

“Are ye deaf, Lad? I dinna wanta hear another word outta yer mouth.  I warned ye, now leave me be, and if I e’er catch ye on my property agin, ye’ll be verra sorry, for I’ll be fillin’ yer hind end with pellets from my shotgun. Is that clear enough for ye, boy?”  

“Verra clear.”

 

**. . . . .**

Stars and stones, the man was meaner’n a water moccasin. I sighed in frustration, but I could be stubborn, much as the auld fool. I headed past his farm to try my hand at convincin’ the other farmers as I hadna seen yet.

 

I’d been on the road for a wee bit when an auto-bo-bil began a’beepin’ … scarin’ the livin’ daylights outta me. The sound was verra near, and soon the metal beastie was right beside me. I stopped to glance at the driver. It was MacGregor’s granddaughter.

 

She sprang outta the thin’, yellin’ to me. “Mr. Fraser—Mr. Fraser. Can ye come back to the house, please?”

 

What was this? “I canna do that, Miss. The man told me to stay away or I’d be wearing breeks full o’ grapeshot.”

 

“I’m sorry. Like I told ye, he can be irascible.”

 

I walked closer to the woman. “He changed his mind, did he?”

 

“Oh, aye. After ye left, he climbed onto _Beelzebub_ to check on the south field and got thrown to the ground by that bluidy animal. He hurt his back, and so, it seems he’ll need ye after all.”

 

The woman bit down on her bottom lip, then added, “He said ye bragged as ye were good wi’ horses. Is that a fact?”

 

“It’s no braggin’ if it’s the truth.”

 

“Weel, if that’s so, will ye return wi’ me then?”

 

“It’d be my pleasure.”

 

**. . . . .**

“Let me familiarize ye with the farm. My name’s Mairi, by the way.” She offered me her hand, and I took it gratefully.

 

“Jamie.”

 

“Glad I am to meet ye proper, Jamie.”

 

She gestured toward the structures on the grounds. “Ever’thin’ ye need—bridles, shoes, curryin’ brushes, oats … it’s all in the stable. The hen house is behind the barn, and all the feed and other clobber is locked up in the attached shed. I’ll be feedin’ the chickens and collectin’ the eggs. Ye’ll be responsible for milkin’ the cows, sloppin’ the hogs, and see as the horses behave. Watch out for _Beelzebub_. He’s a nasty brute, as ye can probably imagine. He’ll rear op and pummel ye when yer back is turned. Forbye, he bites as weel, so if ye’ve ha’ a brain in yer head, take care as he doesna get too near yer fingers.”

 

Turning back to me, Mairi said, “D’ye think ye can handle it, then?”

 

“Oh, aye. It’s no so vast as Lallybroch, and I managed there fine, sure enough.”

 

Mairi frowned, seemin’ confused, and I realized my mistake.

 

“Lallybroch?” Then she smiled. “Och … I see ye like to jest. It’s good to have a man here what has a sense o’ humor. Maybe ye can cheer op the auld sourpuss.”

 

We both chuckled, and parted ways; she to the house, and me to the barn.

 

 

**# # # # #**

 

By the time the day had ended, my brain was crammed full of the particulars of the job. The actual physical aspects were second nature to me; it was the blooming heap of time-consuming paperwork that had me flummoxed. During the war, doctoring was utmost in importance, damn the pen and ink. Only the most significant information was jotted down for reference.

 

My head throbbed as I rode home, and it was exacerbated by my concern for Jamie. I prayed that his job search was fruitful this day. The coach dropped me off at the stop, and I hiked the rest of the way to the house. I plastered a smile on my face and walked with trepidation through the door. Jamie stood there in the living area, grinning like the Cheshire cat. He bounded toward me, lifting me above his head. “It’s doon, Claire. I’m hired on at the MacGregor’s farm. I’ll be supervisin’ the lot o’ it whilst the auld farmer recuperates from an unfortunate accident.”

 

“Oh, Scotty, that’s wonderful.”

 

He lowered me to the floor, and told me in his excitement, “And what’s more, I brought home some eggs, and cured bacon. We can have a wee bit o’ a feast t’night.”

 

I’d never eaten a fresh egg after the breakfast fare when I resided in the castle. At Leoch, the eggs were eaten that morning, so I didn’t know how long it took for them to spoil. Curious, I asked, “Won’t they be bad by now?”

 

“Nay. They’ll keep for weeks on the kitchen shelf. Leastways, that’s what Mairi said. She explained as the eggs that are kept at the grocery market are washed, and so they spoil faster. We had eggs at Lallybroch as weel, but they were eaten so quickly by the family and our many tenants, that I didna e’er ken how long they kept fresh.”

 

“Well, now we both know.”

 

“Aye. It’s good as I can teach ye somethin’ for once.”

 

“That’s not true. You are a constant astonishment to me. I’ve learned about patience, loyalty, honor, and selflessness. You are a living testament to virtue.”

 

I kissed him softly and watched, as love danced in his eyes.

 

**. . . . .**

 

Hannah came by that evening as promised. I brewed up a pot of tea and put out some honey, and biscuits. I apologized for not having any milk for the tea, but Hannah was gracious. She took a sip, nodding in satisfaction. “Tea wi’ honey is fine, Claire.” 

 

Her face was lit by the firelight, but all the same, it most definitely would’ve glowed despite the luminosity of the flames. “ I am impressed,” she gushed. “I dinna mind sayin’ as I was sorely afeared as ye might not be able to gain employment so readily. And Jamie, it was luck that auld MacGregor got thrown by his horse, else ye might still be marchin’ the soles off yer shoes lookin’ for work. I dare say he’s a wee bit antisocial, to put it kindly.”

 

“Aye, that’s so. He ran me off his property afore _Beelzebub_ gave him what for. Maybe it was the lord givin’ him retribution for bein’ such a hateful bugger. Leastways, I wanted to kiss that animal for doin’ me a good turn.

 

“Weel, Hannah, now as ye’re all acquainted with our goin’s on, what news have you got for _us_?”

 

“So far, it’s all good. I’ve kept my ears open. Frank Randall has gone back to Oxfordshire. I heard he couldna stay any longer; the university requirin’ his presence, I expect. And I havna seen a hair on the head o’ any policemen, so ye’re safe for now.”

 

I glanced at Jamie as he mumbled, “Good.”

 

Touching her sleeve, I commented, “Before I forget, I would like to thank you for the use of the Glenn Miller record. Jamie and I love that song. Leaving it here for us was very thoughtful of you.”

 

“Glad I was to do it. I knew ye’d enjoy it, bein’ such youngsters and all.”

 

We chatted for awhile, and then she decided it was time to go. The rest of the bacon was sent with her since a refrigerator was something our home lacked.

 

Jamie and I had another cup of tea and more biscuits by the fireplace, then tired out from a stressful day, hit the sack for the night.

 

 

 

  

 

 


	13. Apples, Tractors, and a Bottle of Scotch

 

 

 

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A/N: My thanks go out to twiannfav for her suggestion to use a Coolgardie safe for perishables. Thanks, taf! 

**. . . . .**

_Beelzebub_ … the name fit the animal for certain. I couldna hardly get near the beast, as he kept rearin’ op, and backin’ aways from the stall door. It was plain as the nose on yer face to ken the reason why. I leaned o’er the rail.  “Whoa, _Beelzebub_. It’s all right, I’m no here to hurt ye.”

 

There were scars scattered ’bout the creature’s neck, withers, and rump. Someone had beaten the poor horse regular, and I didna ken if it was MacGregor himself or some other cruel horse master. It saddened me to think that a man could do as much to any livin’ thin’. It would be a challenge to reverse the damage, but I’d try my best, and see what would happen.

 

I had the job o’ curryin’ the beast, so in order to get close to him, I thought I might attempt a wee distraction. The apple orchard was nearby, and I plucked one o’ the apples from the branches, to get acquainted wi’ him, if ye take my meanin’. I held the shiny, red fruit in my open palm, and offered it to the horse, bein’ careful no to let my fingers get near his teeth. While he nipped at it, I stroked his muzzle with my free hand, speakin’ quietly. “There’s a good lad. Eat it all op.”

 

At first, he threw back his head, retreatin’ from me, his nostrils flarin’ and snortin’, wi’  hooves stampin’ at the straw on the dirt floor. I pulled my hand away, but kept the apple in the other palm.

 

“I’ll no do ye any harm. I wanta be yer friend, aye?”  As he returned to nibble again, I slowly brushed his coat, all the while talkin’ softly to him in Gaelic.

 

Every morn, after the milkin’ was doon, I went to the orchard, afore brushin’ down _Beelzebub_. It got so as the other seven horses, became a wee bit miffed, and began whinnyin’ and nudgin’ me wi’ their nostrils. “Ah, _Scratch_ , so ye want some as weel, d’ye?” I walked past that stall and was pushed by another insistent head. _Sally_ _Forth_ was sweet-dispositioned, but showin’ her frisky side at the moment. “Aye, I’ll bring a bucket filled wi’ apples or carrots next time.” By the end o’ two weeks, I hadna trouble wi’ the lot o’ them, whether or no I had something in my bucket. Auld MacGergor was amazed, e’en tho’ he didna let on ’bout it.

 

He came out to the stable one day when his recuperatin’ was doon. His frown didna leave his face. A more cynical person, I ne’er did meet. “Weel, Lad, I suppose ye want me to offer ye some praise for keepin’ the farm goin’ in my absence. Dinna get yer hopes op, for ye’ll get none from me. Yer job was to care for these horses and the like, and that ye have. Ye’ll be paid for yer work, but I willna let yer head swell op with pride. Ye only did yer job, and for that I thank ye.”

 

As MacGregor left, Mairi sauntered by. She was comin’ from the chicken coop, a basket filled with eggs at her side. Pokin’ her head into the stable, she spouted, “I heard ever’ word the auld coot said. Heed him nay mind, Jamie. Whene’er ye’re no around, it’s, Jamie this or Jamie that. Wouldna be a bit surprised if my grandda adopted ye as his own.”

 

I smiled at that, but then my thoughts wandered to the healed wounds on the horse’s back. “Would ye mind verra much if I asked ye about somethin’ as been preyin’ on my mind?”

 

“No skin off my nose …”

 

“Weel then, was it yer grandsire who strapped _Beelzebub_?”

 

“Och, no, it was his son, Cam. The man has the devil in him, and a temper such as ye’ve ne’er seen afore. I pity his new bride when his true colors emerge, but maybe she can tame the brute. Heaven knows his first wife ne’er did. A gentle hand can work miracles, much as ye did wi’ _Bub_.

 

Picking op an egg from the wire basket, she said, “Say, I have more than enough eggs. Would ye like to take some home wi’ ye t’day?”

 

“Aye, and I thank ye for yer generosity. We ate the last eggs ye’d given us for goin’ on a week.”

 

“Did ye use op all the bacon as weel? I can give ye more.”

 

“I appreciate the offer, bur I havna a place to store it.”

 

“Is yer refrigerator in need o’ fixin’, then?”

 

“Havna got one.”

 

She pointed a finger to the small structure near the barn. “Is that so? We have a Coolgardie safe ye can have. It’s just sittin' in there collectin’ the dust. It’s yers if ye want it. My auntie brought it back from Australia, but after Grandda bought a refrigerator, it took op residence in the tool shed and been there e’er since. I can transport it to yer home in the truck if ye like.”

 

I shook my head, astounded as she would say such a thin’. “I ne’er stole from a man that hired me, and I dinna expect to start doin’ so now.”

 

Her grey eyes tossed ’bout in their sockets. “You willna be stealin’ it. Grandda, many a time, said he’d take it out to the dump, and yet it still takes op space. It’s good for someone to have the use o’ it. Ye’d be doin’ us a favor, ye would.”

 

“In that case, I’ll take it off yer hands. It would be grand to have a place to store the food. Thank ye kindly, Mairi. But, can ye explain exactly how it works?”

 

“For sure. Come wi’ me. I’ll put op the eggs at the house, then show ye.”

 

**. . . . .**

Mairi gave me instructions for usin’ the safe, but afore leavin’ she told me, “If ye’re doon wi’ all the feedin’ o’ the animals, Grandda wants ye to take the tractor out to the south field, and be sure to hitch op the tiller. He means to plant alfalfa on the morrow.”

 

“Tractor?”

 

Her hands speedily traveled to her hips. “Aye. Tractor … och …d’ye mean to say as ye’ve ne’er driven one?”

 

I looked at her sheepishly, and spun a web o’ lies. “The farm I worked was verra small and we hadna one to work it.”

 

“Christ, does that mean as I’ll havta give ye lessons on that too.”

 

“Afeared so …”

 

I’d seen the metal machine, but had nary a notion o’ what it was called, nor used for. Mairi attached the tiller to the back o’ it whilst I cautiously sat my arse opon the monster. Stars and stones, when I started it op like she said, the rumble and the roar scairt me so, as I nearly fell from the seat. My instructor laughed at the face I made, but I didna join in the levity o’ it all. I was terrified. I wondered my hair didna blanch from the fear o’ it.

 

By the time I drove the tractor to the field, I was feelin’ more confident, but I do admit, I circled the ground a few times afore I remembered how to shut off the blasted motor.

 

After work, Mairi drove the truck op beside the tool shed, whilst I lifted and carried the safe and placed it in the bed o’ the vehicle. She took me to the cottage, and I unloaded the contents, and put it in the rear o’ the house where a breeze could do its job and cool down the burlap coverin’ the cabinet.

 

I entered the house, and laid my first bit o’ money from workin’—4₤ on the bedroom dresser, then went outside agin’ and checked my traps.

 

**# # # # #**

Dr. Tanner was from a wealthy family, and to his credit wasn’t the least bit stingy. In fact, he was extremely generous to his staff. How he ever managed to supply confections and other niceties when rationing was still widespread (the war literally bankrupting the country), was beyond my scope of understanding.

 

He afforded me a much greater wage than I could have anticipated at the hospital. I worried though, that my income would surely exceed anything that Jamie could bring home. I was almost afraid to disclose that Geoffrey paid me 6₤, 5s for my two forty hour work-weeks, whereas, Jamie put in a good fifty hours in the same time period. My employer even went so far as to endow me with _The Macallan_ _Scotch_ to celebrate my first paycheck, and the post-war embarkation of my professional nursing career.

 

Dr. Tanner stood beaming; the neck of the glass bottle gripped tightly in his hands. He extended the Scottish whiskey toward me. “Go on, take it. It’s yours. You earned it.”

 

I stepped back, clearly astounded. “Geoffrey, I can’t allow this. It’s too much. If the Scotch was a less expensive brand, I wouldn’t mind, but this is easily as much as a week’s pay. What are you thinking?”

 

“I’m thinking that I’m repaying you for the selfless dedication that you exhibited all those years during the war. It’s a gift of gratitude; I only wish it could be more. Please accept it, and share it with your Jamie.”

 

“I don’t know what to say.”

 

He nodded once to encourage me, I suppose. “A thank you will do.”

 

“All right then. Thank you.”

 

“You’re very welcome, Claire.”

 

**. . . . .**

 

I stored the whiskey in one of my assigned drawers in the office, then immediately went to the bank at lunchtime to cash my check. With a pillow slip I nicked from one of the examination rooms, I sought out the shop where I previously pawned Jamie’s items. I couldn’t leave the weaponry in the hands of the owner. They belonged to my Scotty; they embodied his very essence. It exemplified who he was—a Highland warrior transcending time. Smiling, I stuffed my purchases—including a small camera I spotted—into the fabric sack, then I visited a nearby bakery, and bought a half dozen oatcakes.

 

The time seemed to drag on, but finally, I was on the coach with Jamie’s belongings, the camera, and the Scotch. Exhilaration flooded my soul knowing that I could return what was rightfully his. They served their purpose and now would become part of _our_ history.

 

**. . . . .**

The house was quiet, as I set my purchases down by the hearth. Where was Jamie? He had to be there, since a plump grouse was impaled upon a spit, cooking over the fire. I searched all the rooms, then poked my head out the back door. There he was, pouring water into a metal pot on top of a wooden cabinet. “Jamie … whatever are you doing?”

 

Turning round, he put down the bucket. “Sassenach—ye’re home.”

 

He grinned, his palm out flat, gesturing to the curious box. “Mairi gave this to us, so’s we can keep our food from perishin’.”

 

“I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

 

Jamie patted the safe, then ran his hand along the top. “Nor me. Mairi said it came from Australia. It’s called a Coolgardie safe.”

 

“Australia?”

 

“Aye. I didna realize that the Sassenachs set foot on the place. She said it used to be a prison o’ sorts. I wondered if any Scottish criminals got sent there as weel.”

 

“I imagine so.

 

“But enough with the dissertation on that continent ... Come inside, now. We’ve nothing to put in there yet, at any rate.”

 

“Oh, aye, we do. I have some apples, more eggs and a slab of bacon. Are ye surprised then?”

 

“Not as surprised as you’re going to be. Come on, and I’ll show you.”

 

**. . . . .**

We sat on the rug in front of the fireplace, the bag between us. His eyes widened as I pulled his broadsword from the pillow slip. “How did ye …?”

 

“Never mind that. All your belongings are here, and look … I have a camera. Remember, I told you about how it can take the likeness of a person, and put it on paper? There’s no film in it at present, but I intend on remedying that on Monday.

 

“Now, close your eyes; the best is yet to come …”

 

I scurried into the kitchen, and took down two fluted pieces of stemware, setting them on the rug. Putting my arm into the bottom of the sack, I told Jamie. “You can open your eyes.” I hauled up the bottle of _The Macallan_ , and handed it to him.

 

“Stars and stones, woman, ye brought me whiskey?”

 

“Yes, and incidentally, it’s a bottle they call _Scotch_.”

 

“Ye dinna say?”

 

“Oh, but I do, Scotty, I do.”

 

He removed the seal, popped the cork, and poured a measure for each of us. We clinked glasses in celebration, and smiling, I said, “Slainte mhath!” To which Jamie responded, “Do dheagh shlainte!”

 

 

  


A/N: _The Macallan Scotch_ is purported to be the best Scotch in the world, and easily the most expensive. I found out that the distillery at Speyside actually started producing _The Macallan_ in 1824, so, it’s historically accurate to purchase a bottle in 1945.

 

 


	14. Trouble in Paradise

 

 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander.            Banner by LOS 

**. . . . .**

After the toast, we supped, then played our record, dancing until the song ended, heralding that it was time for Mr. Sandman to dust our eyelids. It had become a bedtime ritual—holding each other tightly as we swayed to the music—and our magical interlude, bringing to conclusion another tiring day.

 

I had the next day off; the clinic was closed on weekends. Jamie, though, now that he had the job at MacGregor’s, worked four ten hour days, six on Friday, and four on Saturday. He left the house way before I did; cows apparently didn’t enjoy waiting to be milked. I missed him when he wasn’t here, but I kept busy.

 

Washing clothes with a washboard and wooden tub, and hanging the wet laundry on a rope that Jamie tied in between two trees in the back of the house, took up half of my morning. The other half I spent riding the coach into Inverness and buying groceries at the market.

 

It was nerve-wracking during my visits at the store. I was always afraid someone from the police station would recognize me. So far, that hadn’t happened. In contemporary clothing, most probably I could pass by them without so much as a twitch of an eyebrow. Still, I kept a low profile, trying to minimize anything that would draw attention to my person.

 

When Frank and I were still together, I never cooked much, or catered to him, really. There were numerous evenings that we went out to dinner, simply because I didn’t feel the desire to cook. But knowing that my Scotty was doing grueling physical labor, and putting in an exorbitant amount of hours, I felt it would be ungrateful of me not to have a hot meal to offer him.

 

Some days I would come home to find him, fully clothed, asleep in the bedroom. He must’ve been exhausted, and from what he told me about MacGregor, he got very little respite on the farm. According to Hannah, the owner was a crotchety, disagreeable taskmaster. Nonetheless … Jamie took it in stride, never complaining about doing what needed to be done.   

 

**. . . . .**

One Saturday, I decided to put my camera to use. I snapped pictures of the cottage, the rooms, and Jamie. I then had him take a photograph of me.

 

I placed the camera in his large hands and pulled it up in front of his eyes. “You look in the little window, and when you like what you see, you push down this button. The light bulb on top will flash, and voila … a moment frozen in time.”

 

“Ah … simple enough. But when d’the portraits come out?”

 

“When the roll of film is used up, I’ll take it to the apothecary shop, and they’ll send it out to a film laboratory to be developed. It shouldn’t take more than a week.”

 

“That fast, aye?”

 

I winked. “That fast.”

 

“Good.”

 

**# # # # #**

I ken how much that bottle o’ whiskey cost. MacGregor had one in his liquor cabinet, and Mairi warned me no to touch it, as it was verra expensive. Claire didna tell me how she could afford to buy it and my weapons as weel. I had an inklin’ as to the way they came to be in her possession, so maybe it was best as I didna ken the facts straight out.

 

Drinkin’ the whiskey wi’ her, I tried no to feel diminished in her eyes. I’d promised in my private weddin’ vows to keep her fed, and now, sorry I was to admit I’d been remiss in my duty as her husband, and it stung my pride sorely.

 

That night I noticed as my earnin’s were still layin’ there on the dresser, and hers were no to be seen. Did the lass no wanta embarrass me, and so she was hidin’ her money away from my eyes?

 

On the ride to MacGregor’s the next day, I had time to think on what I could do to make myself less o’ a failure. While it was true as I was just as penniless in 1743, there was still game to hunt, and I could impose on my kin to house me, at Leoch, Lallybroch or elsewhere. Here, I was alone, Claire my only companion. Miles o’ fences there were, to prevent my huntin’, policemen to chase me ’bout wi’ pistols at the ready, and vehicles faster than I could run. I was beginin’ to doubt my decision to follow my wife to her time. Perhaps Frank wouldha been willin’ to take her back if I hadna come wi’ her.

 

The gates o’ the farm stood afore me, and nothin’ had come to mind as to the solvin’ o’ my problem. My only recourse was to wait and see. I wouldna be a farmhand forever— leastways, I hoped as it wouldna be the case.

 

**. . . . .**

Another fortnight came and was gone, and agin, Claire wasna forthcomin’ about how much money she’d brought home. Truth be told, I couldha just come out and asked her straightaway, but I was scairt to do it. I kent as this would drive a wedge betwixt us. Maybe in this time, men didna mind as their women were the breadwinners, but growin’ op as I had in the highlands, this was a concern as was wrapped in shame.

 

E’en wi’ my Sassenach by my side, I was findin’ it verra difficult to be happy. It was festerin’ in my guts, at no bein’ able to provide for my wife. As the beginnin’ o’ the work week approached, I couldna sleep at night, and decided on talkin’ to MacGregor in the morn.

 

**. . . . .**

Auld MacGregor had his fill o’ breakfast, and was likely to be in the best mood I could be sure o’ t’day.

 

“Aye, Laddie. What is it ye’re wantin’ to speak to me ’bout?”

 

“Ye ken as I have a wife whom I love dearly. I wanta give her ever’thin’ I can. So … I was wonderin’ if ye had any reservations ’bout sellin’ off part o’ yer land. I’d be only requirin’ two acres or so, and I’d still be workin’ here ’til ye find someone to replace me.”    


His eyes were steel-hard, starin’ into mine as he considered the proposal. “My land is promised to my son, Cam, but I’ll see if he has any objections to yer buyin’ a parcel o’ it. Sixty pounds to the acre, if he agrees to the bargain. I’ll need half down, and payments for the rest. Would that satisfy ye?”

 

Stars and stones, that much? Ye couldha bowled me over wi’ a chicken feather. I’d hafta work for roughly eight months, and save e’er last cent I earned. The task seemed insurmountable. I had my mind set on the two acres, but maybe I could get by on one? E’en at one acre, I would still havta buy seed, and tools, a house, a barn, animals. My head was threatenin’ to explode wi’ all the computations.

 

I hesitated to answer. Goin’ into such debt was somethin’ I mightily abhorred.

 

MacGregor, as was his wont, spoke impatiently. “Weel, Lad. What’s it gonna be? D’ye want the land or no? Speak op!”

 

“I’ll havta think on it for a bit.”

 

“Do as ye please. I’ll ask Cam in the meanwhile.”

 

**. . . . .**

 

The more I thought on the matter, the more worrit I became. Ye ken, I was no scairt o’ hard work, but at the same time, it would means hours away from Claire, and a grand monetary obligation hangin’ o’er our heads. We scarcely got to see one another as was the case now. Could I bear the curse for the next several years? The answer was nay. Wi’ nary a prospect in mind, I spent the dark hours o’ the night, sleepless as afore.

 

Comin’ home the following day, I was exhausted, as much from fashin’ o’er my troubles as from physical wear. I’d explained to my employer in some detail, my concerns, and so buried my dreams in sad reality. During the night, I got op and went to the desk, drawing out a pen and paper. I hadta leave my Claire; there was nay other solution to what vexed me. She deserved someone better than a lowly farmhand. I took the pen in my hand and scribbled out my feelin’s and reasons for leavin’. Determined I was, to be on my way the subsequent night.

 

I was in the process of sealin’ the letter in an envelope when Claire crept into the room holding a candle. Quickly, I slipped it into the top drawer and turned to her.

 

“Jamie … whatever are you doing? It’s the middle of the night.”

 

“Och … Wide awake, I was. I'm verra sorry if I woke you as weel.”

 

She padded closer to me, the candlelight flickerin’ and illuminatin’ her face, creased wi’ concern. “Are you all right? Something on your mind?”

 

“Nay. I’ll come to bed, now.” I snuffed out the oil lamp and followed her into the bedroom.

 

**# # # # #**

 

I was no one’s fool. He’d been quiet lately, but I just supposed it was the long days catching up to him. As big and hardy as he was, it was bound to fell him sooner or later. I could see now though, that it was something else entirely.

 

Jamie did indeed wake me, and now I couldn’t get back to sleep, the bloody rotter. When I entered the room, I saw the oil lamp casting its light onto an envelope he was attempting to hide.  I kept on musing about the note. If he thought he could keep it from me, he had better think again. I’d find out for myself what he was writing, and to whom.

 

**. . . . .**

 

The first rays of a new dawn flit across the window casement and Jamie was—as usual—already gone-a-milkin’, as they say. Lifting my head, I muttered curses at the unrepentant sunlight, and shut my drooping eyelids at once, much to my detriment. With my traitorous eyes shut tight, I accidentally drifted back into oblivion. A veritable panic seized me, when jerked awake, I finally checked my watch laying on the nightstand. I’d fully intended to read that blasted missive or whatever it was, but now, I was in a frenzied kerfuffle to make it on time to the coach stop.

 

**. . . . .**

Work went smoothly, but just the same, I scurried out of the building at the locking of the clinic entrance. I wanted to grab that note before Jamie had a chance.

 

I heard the sound of his soft snoring and tiptoed into the bedroom to make sure he was sound asleep. Hopefully, he would be passed out. He was—literally … the bottle of Scotch half empty at his bedside. I’d never seen him totally sloshed before, tipsy on occasion, but never like this. My concern ratcheted up a notch. What was in that damned envelope?

 

Making a beeline to the desk, I pulled the drawer open. The note was missing. It had to be there … it had to. Did he hide it somewhere else?

 

I rifled through the contents, my fingers feeling along the bottom of the drawer … nothing resembling an envelope. With the bloody drawer pulled out of the desk, I checked the area behind, in the foolish notion that perchance the missive had fallen over the wooden lip? Again, my search afforded me nil.

 

In a state of agitation now, I began shaking each and everything contained therein, and finally, the search ended. The object of my obsession slipped out of the jacket of our Glenn Miller record. As I peered at the envelope I was stunned. My name shouted at me from off the white paper sleeve, written in Jamie’s familiar scrawl.

 

My trembling fingers reached in and unfolded the sheet. It was scripted in perfect English, but I subconsciously heard the Scottish burr of his voice as I read:

 

 _Mo nighean donn_ … 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	15. Letter of Intent

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander.               Banner by LOS

 

**. . . . .**

_This is the hardest thin’ I have e’er doon, but I must leave ye, my bonny Sassenach. I love ye still, and I always will, but I have good reasons. On our weddin’ day, I vowed to protect ye wi' my body, to keep ye fed, and to provide a roof o’er your head. Alas, when I followed ye to yer own time, I didna ken as there would be nay a way for me to accomplish such a duty, and I’m verra sorry as this hasna come to pass._

_Ye’re needed here, Claire. Ye have a use as benefits other people. A relic o’ the past, I am, and I’ll only hold ye back. I wish it were no so, but the facts canna lie. My hope is as ye can go on wi’out me, as I must go on wi’out ye. I’m glad as Dougal forced yer hand and made ye get marrit to me. These last months were the happiest o’ my life, and for that I am truly thankful._

_I shall go now, as I canna stand by and watch, as yer respect for me as a man dwindles ’til there’s no more than a wisp to be found. If ye have it in yer heart, can ye forgive me for leavin’?_

_I promise I willna forget ye e’er. Ye were my first true love, and I expect ye’ll be my last as weel._

_Always,_

_Yer Jamie_

I refolded the letter, inserting it into the envelope, and returning it to the record jacket. I couldn’t see; my eyes were so clouded with tears. How could that stubborn, Scottish clot-head think to leave me? His incongruous sense of nobility was always throwing a spanner into the works. Did he suppose I was so shallow as to love him only for the monetary comforts he could lay at my feet?

 

After a few minutes, the tears abated, my emotions replaced by anger. I was ready to throttle the bladdered fool. He was not going to get away with this. I’d wait until his drunken stupor wore off, then spring it on him tonight, even while his escape attempt was in progress.

 

**. . . . .**

Storming into the bedroom, I filched the bottle of _The Macallan_ from the nightstand and stowed it in the upper cabinet of the loo. He’d had enough, and I could certainly _ken_ why. I followed with a trip to the kitchen where I conjured up a meal fit for a king, or a bloody, ginger-headed Scotsman as the case may be.

 

The smell of the food cooking woke the sleeping giant, and he staggered to the table, eyes reddened and bleary. I imagined he’d been crying too. How could anything that reduced us to tears be for our good?

 

I didn’t mention finding him a sodden mess this evening. That went without saying. I bided my time, going through the motions, getting ready for bed. It was plain that Jamie was about ready to let tears fall again, but to his credit, he held them back.

 

We made love sweetly, tenderly, and to his mind probably for the last time. I pretended to be asleep afterwards, and soon felt his weight shift on the mattress when he stood to go. He left the room, naked, and I followed him out to the backyard, where I saw him retrieving his clothing from a pasteboard container.

 

**# # # # #**

My clothes, I packed into a box I’d carried home from MacGregor’s, and set under a tree in the rear o’ the cottage. Was I doin’ the right thin’? A battle o’ emotions was takin’ place inside o’ me. Instinctively, I grabbed the whiskey from the kitchen cupboard; pourin’ a jigger into a glass, thinkin’ it might verra weel dull the pain in my heart. Why did I havta love her so? Maybe it wouldha been better for both o’ us, if she had ne’er marrit me. But there it was, plain as ye please … we did, and we came to love each other, so much so as I had to drown my sorrows wi’ _The Macallan_.

 

One drink became two, then three … four, and was gettin’ so I lost count. Carryin’ the Scotch wi’ me, I put it on the nightstand next to the bed, and almost missed safely settin’ it down. One more shot and the glass slipped from my hand to the floor, and I plopped onto the mattress ready to let the whiskey take me. I cried myself to sleep and only woke at the smell o’ food bein’ prepared. I wiped at the moisture in my eyes wi’ the back o’ my hand, and rakin’ my fingers thru my hair, stumbled to the kitchen.

 

Ordinarily, it wouldha been an embarrassment to be seen in such a condition, ye ken, but I was too overcome wi’ emotion to care much. Leastways, Claire had enough sense no to chastise me ’bout it.

 

**. . . . .**

My bottled courage was op and leavin’ me, and I nearly lost my resolve as we got ready for the night. The verra thought o’ ne’er havin’ my Sassenach sharin’ my bed with me, pierced my chest much as a sgian dubh. I was afeared my heart would bleed fore’ermore, for want o’ her. But what was the use of this love if we couldna share it t’gether?

 

The grievin’ started op e’en afore I stepped out through the cottage door. I was glad as the darkness concealed the sight o’ my eyes wet wi’ tears. Wi’ all the power I had in me, I restrained myself from the urge to sob at her breast and prayed mightily to the good lord for the strength to keep it so.

 

I slipped outta bed as soon as Claire fell asleep, and walked in my bare feet to the front room. In the livin’ area, I opened the drawer where I’d hidden the missive and removed the envelope from the record sleeve. Puttin’ it on the top of the desk where Claire would find it, I then went out to the yard.

 

Liftin’ a shirt from the box, I donned it, but then, the sound of feet softly paddin’ in the grass, alerted me to my wife’s presence. With my eyes shut tightly, I sighed in defeat. Why couldna the little woman e’er stay put?

 

**# # # # #**

“Leaving me, are you?”

 

“Aye. It’s for the best,” he uttered.

 

“For the best …” I repeated, with all the sarcasm I could muster. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Don’t I get a say in this idiotic decision of yours? Now, get your bare arse in the house right this minute. We desperately need to discuss this.”

 

Jamie traipsed right behind me sheepishly and sat on the dilapidated settee in the living room. I removed my robe and threw it to him. “Cover yourself up. I can’t talk to you with your bloody manhood staring me in the face.”

 

He took the robe and fanned it across his lap.

 

I tapped my foot impatiently. “What in the holy hell are you thinking?”

 

The color rose in his face. “I’m thinkin’ as I canna be a man in yer eyes, if I canna supply ye wi’ yer needs. I wanta buy ye thin’s, ye ken; give ye a home, a farm, a life worth livin’. Ye deserve that, Claire, and I dinna believe it’s likely to happen if I stay wi’ ye. In no time atall, ye’ll be ashamed to be seen wi’ me, and I willna let our acquaintance be a humiliation to ye amongst yer friends.

 

I plunked down next to him. “That’s a load of codswallop, as you’re well aware! Jamie Fraser—this all boils down to the nature of our work, doesn’t it?”

 

He started pointing an accusing finger at me. “Aye. And if it doesna bother ye, then why in god’s name are ye hidin’ your earnin’s from me? And how could ye afford _The_ _Macallan_ , aye? I’m no a stupid man. I ken how much it cost ye. Explain that to me, if ye can. ”

 

“You’re right of course. I shouldn’t have withheld the amount of my pay from you. I thought it would be dispiriting to you to see how much more I was earning. I see now, it was wrong of me. As for the Scotch, it was a gift to celebrate my new job. Dr. Tanner gave it to me, and would not acknowledge my refusal to accept it.”

 

I took one of his hands in mine. “Jamie … I don’t want you to go. You know I can’t live without you, don’t you? I’ve loved you for far too long now. You’re ensconced in my heart, and I’d miss you dreadfully.”

 

He turned his head away. “Love canna exist where respect there is none.”

 

“Look at me, Scotty …” I placed my palms on his cheeks, pulling him toward me, and reclaiming eye contact with him. “Why on earth, would I not respect you? The work you do is hard, physical labor. You’re up before dawn nearly every day, putting in more hours than I do. If you made the same hourly wage, your earnings would greatly surpass mine. Not to mention you’re bringing home fresh produce and eating a meal at the farm each noon.

 

“Don’t you see? It’s not the paycheck that’s important; it’s the effort. I went the route of comfort and stability with Frank. We had enough money and then some, and yet look where it led. I chose you, Jamie, and it’s your guileless heart and soul that keeps me cleaving to you. Listen to me … I say now, that any honorable employment is worthy of respect, and you have mine, totally.”

 

I was becoming lost in those lake-blue eyes; the sadness in them tugging at my heartstrings. “If you don’t love me, or want to be with me, then, by all means, leave. I’ll have no recourse but to let you go. But—”

 

His lips were on mine at that instant, and the robe was flung aside. I was hoisted in his arms, crushed in a suffocating embrace, and could feel his body harden as he pressed close to me. All the words I wanted to express were swallowed in a heartbeat as a result.

 

I gasped for air and finally uttered, “Jamie, you can’t be serious. We just had each other not twenty minutes ago.”

 

A sly wink accompanied his next line. “Weel then, and who’s to say as we canna have another go at it, aye?”

 

**# # # # #**

Sassenach explained the differences in our pay, and it all made sense. My mind eased ’bout it, and when she said as she loved me and didna want me to go … weel, I could barely speak, my heart beatin’ so. As a remedy to the situation, I let my lips press to hers so as there’d be no need o’ speakin’ atall.

 

God in heaven, feelin’ her in my arms—and this time to last fore’er—I thought my heart was wont to burst, so full was my joy! I threw aside the robe as Claire gave me, my lustful intention clear to my wife. My followin’ verbal comment was light to be sure, but the emotions wi’in me changed in a wee moment to one o’ a verra serious nature.

 

The touch o’ her skin under my fingers, the softness o’ her dark hair, her scent, all invaded my senses, so as I felt as I was drownin’ in the love o’ her. The want in me was eruptin’ now, in an explosive force that only my Claire could contain. My mouth and hands all but caressed ever’ curve and crevice o’ her body, and her secrets were opened to my explorations. I then lay back and let my woman carry me to the brink. When I couldna stand anamore, I finished off the pleasurable task in my own fashion and cried out her name.

 

Overcome wi’ the import o’ our union, I did—to my utmost shame—weep openly, my head opon her breast. She did minister to me, rufflin’ her fingers through my curls, and soothin’ me with her sweet voice. “Shh … Jamie. Everything will be alright. You’ll see. We have each other. That’s all that matters.”

 

Aye. Closin’ my eyes, I let my Sassenach lull me to sleep. I relaxed in the knowledge as we’d be sharin’ a bed for the rest o’ our lives.

 

 


	16. Scandalized

   

 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander      Banner by LOS

**. . . . .**

Thank goodness the next day was Sunday, because, after our little tryst, neither Jamie nor I could move, let alone put in a full day of work. We were limp as week-old celery, and lay in bed until well past nine, cuddled together under the blankets, reveling in a decadent bout of slothfulness.

 

I was sated, and relaxed. My lover however, was once again feeling amorous, obviously starting to sense his sexual energy being restored despite last night’s orgiastic encounters. He was kissing the back of my neck, and playfully outlining the shell of my ear. I twisted my body around to face him. “Haven’t you had enough loving for one day?”

 

“Nay. I ne’er can have my fill o’ ye. I do believe there’s this hollow inside my soul. Each time I take ye, a wee bit o’ the hole closes op, but wi’ the passin’ o’ time, the fillin’ gets eaten away, and the hollow opens, waitin’ for ye to fill it op agin.”

 

“Jamie, I don’t know if I can fill it up right this minute; I don’t have it in me. You tired me out. You have to admit you were a beast last night, and a little rough to boot.”

 

“Och …and what d’ye call this, Sassenach?” He pointed to the bite marks on his shoulder.

 

“I call that reciprocity.”

 

His head jerked back. “Meanin’?”

 

“Tit for tat.”

 

He wrinkled his brow. “Come agin?”

 

“Oh, Scotty. You are a wonder. I was retaliating for your brutish behaviour.”

 

One eyebrow cocked. “Is that what it was?”

 

“Never mind. I admit I enjoyed every second of it, but I need awhile to prepare for the next assault.”

 

With a loud sigh, he muttered, “Alright … I’ll no manhandle ye agin ’til t’night.”

 

“Is that a threat?”

 

“Nay. It’s a promise. I’ll be more gentle forbye. Anaways, I’ll be certain as ye eat first, so as my shoulder willna be so temptin’.”

 

I shoved him in jest, tapping the area where my teeth marks remained.

 

“Ow … seems as I have a need o’ recuperatin’ myself. Ye dinna have hydrophobia, d’ye?”

 

“No, I most certainly am not a mad dog, but I am mad about you.”

 

He smirked. “Good.”

 

**. . . . .**

When we finally hauled our arses outta bed, we ate some breakfast, and Jamie reset his traps while I went about collecting berries, pine nuts, and wild plums. Afterwards, I counted out my bills and change so Jamie could see what was left of my pay. I also got the Scotch down out of the loo and placed it in a prominent position on the kitchen workspace.

 

During the afternoon lull, I thought about the conversation we had last night. I couldn’t deny that some of what Jamie said was true. Would he remain happy, doing manual labor all his life? He did the same at Lallybroch, albeit the estate was his. There was status and honor in working the place and supplying his tenants with necessities. The responsibilities were daunting, yet rewarding simultaneously.

 

Prospects here were exceedingly slim, these post-war years having thrown the whole country into a depression of vast magnitude. I wondered if my Scotsman could ever find his niche, and that thought had me worried. It was a niggling, constant, gnaw in the recesses of my conscious mind.

 

**. . . . .**

On Friday, I scurried down the street on my lunch hour to pick up the pictures I had taken the previous week. It was a little further than the bank, and I had all I could do to get back to the clinic on time. As a result, that evening, I had an apology on my tongue once more. While we sat at dinner, I said, “I’m sorry, Jamie, I didn’t have time to go down to the City Management Center to have the electricity turned on. Your radio will have to wait another few days.

 

My Scotty winked at me, mischief swimming about in his lake-blue eyes. “Dinna fash, Sassenach. I'm verra certain as we’ll find other distractions.”

 

“Of that, I have no doubt. In the meantime, would you like to see the photographs I took?’

 

His mouth dropped open as I handed him each photo. “God in heaven, I canna believe my eyes. They’re wee paintin’s.”

 

“Yes, they are. Do you like them?”

 

“I like them fine. Forbye, I’ll treasure them as a king’s crown jewels.” He leaned over and left a soft kiss on my waiting lips.

 

“If you like these, then I thought I would introduce you to a new form of entertainment. They’re playing classic movies at the Glebe Theatre.”

 

“Movies, ye say?”

 

“Think of it as another modern miracle. You’ll enjoy it, Scotty.”

 

With a childlike expression, he asked, “As much as the music box, or the pictures?”

 

“I suppose we’ll have to see about that.”

 

**# # # # #**

It was verra pleasurable to sit alongside my Sassenach in the coach. On my own, the ride wasna so. Ever’ morn and eve brought a lonesome journey to and from MacGregor’s. Opon a time, I would forgo the coach, and walk the way on my return. I e’en found a shorter route to the cottage. It bypassed the road, straight from the south pasture through the trees, and op to the rear o’ our home.

 

Claire let me pay the lass as was runnin’ the booth for the movie house, as I was gettin’ more familiar with calculatin’ the paper money, ye ken.

 

I turned as I heard Claire’s name bein’ called, and saw a lass and her lad saunterin’ op to us. “So, this is the man ye’ve been keepin’ under wraps, aye?”

 

A big smile spread all o’er Claire’s face. “Ellen … yes, this is Jamie. Jamie, this is Ellen, and Michael from the clinic.”

 

We all shook hands; a strange custom I still wasna comfortable wi’. At first, when the lass offered her hand, I bowed down and kissed it as a gentleman should. She looked at me oddly, then shrugged. I watched as Claire demonstrated what I was _supposed_ to do. Ye ken, it wasna verra likely to be shakin’ hands in the Highlands when ye might need that hand to draw yer claymore.

 

Anaways, Ellen asked me, “How did ye and Claire meet?”

 

“Och … I, um …” Stars and stones, what could I say? “I suppose I met her when she set my shoulder right.”

 

She canted her head, clearly interested in my tale. “Was that durin’ the war?”

 

“Ye could say as much.”

 

Michael drew in closer, and chimed in, “Where did ye serve?”

 

Serve? I didna understand his meanin’. Eyein’ Claire for help, and gettin’ nary a word from her, I answered in truth, “I didna serve.”

 

“Ye’re a conscientious objector then?”

 

“A what?”

 

“He means, you were opposed to fighting on religious or moral grounds.”

 

“Ah …”

 

Sassenach bit her lip to keep from laughin’, as she weel kent how much fightin’ I’d been in. My cheeks were heatin’ op wonderin’ how to extricate myself politely from this discussion when my woman said—lyin’ as smooth as ye please—“He was a medic.”

 

Taking a step back, Ellen shook my hand again, and said, “I’d better let ye get inside, so ye don’t miss any o’ the movie. See ye on Monday, Claire. Glad to have met ye, Jamie.”

 

“Aye, me as weel.”

 

Michael tipped his hat. “Jamie … Claire …”

 

With that, they left, much to my relief.

 

**. . . . .**

 

We found a seat inside and were followed by a lad pushin’ a wee cart filled wi’ various sweets. Claire picked out some aniseed balls, barley sugars, and pear drops. I’d ne’er tasted such thin’s in all my bairn days. Fitz was wont to make candied orange peels from the citrus as was shipped from Portugal. She also favored us wi’ her sugared nutmeats, and marzipan at Yuletide, but those were nothin’ like what I was now experiencin’.

 

After a few minutes, the theatre went verra dark, and a blast o’ noise came from the wall. A big cat, a lion to be sure, appeared and roared at us. I was jumpin’ outta my seat to shield Claire, when she clamped a hand opon my shoulder, and said, “Sit down, Scotty. He can’t hurt us … it’s make believe … a moving picture.

 

I settled back into place once more. “Ah …”

 

Still, I felt verra puzzled. How did it get op there?

 

Next, I saw people; big as ye please, comin’ outta the wall. They were talkin’, but if it was a picture as Claire explained, then how in all as is holy, could I hear what they were sayin’?

 

 

# # # # #

 

I didn’t detect so much as a peep out of my Jamie until … suddenly, he shot out of his seat, staring at the screen.

 

“Did ye see that, Claire? Stars and stones, the lassie bared her leg in front o’ a stranger. It’s indecent, I tell ye.”

 

A voice boomed from behind us, “Set yourself down, Lad, we canna see the show. So, either leave the theatre, or stand in the rear. One or the other.”

 

“Jamie,” I hissed. “Sit down, please.”

 

He continued his tirade. “But I canna believe mine own eyes.  How could she do such a thin’? What would her mother say?”

 

I gave a tug on his arm. “It’s just a movie; it’s not real.”

 

“Aye, ye told me as much. But still …”

 

**# # # # #**

I sat quiet and watched ever’thin’ afore my eyes, but had to shut them when the woman and man stayed t’gether in the same room wi’out bein’ marrit. Why it was most unseemly! Dinna the people in this age havena morals? I thought maybe as was why Claire blinked nary an eye ’bout usin’ such filthy words at times. 

 

Afore we left the theatre, Claire bought a peculiar pack of American candy as was called, Chiclets. She told me it was chewin’ gum. I didna much see the sense o’ chewin’ somethin’ just so as to spit it out later. I did see other people chewin’ it tho’. It was like watchin’ a cow chewin’ its cud to my mind.

 

I noticed lads and lasses wi’ sticks o’ paper betwixt their lips, as weel. They lit the end o’ them wi’ a match, and smoke would curl out o’ their mouths and nose much as a fire-breathin’ dragon. It all seemed foolishness to me. Ned had a pipe that he smoked, but these were paper tubes. Didna they get worrit as they’d burn their noses off?

 

 

**# # # # #**

When the movie ended, I decided to stop at the candy trolley for the second time. I bought some Chiclets and amused Jamie with its history.

 

“Ye mean to tell me, as ye ne’er swallow the wad?”

 

“No, that’s not what it’s made for.”

 

“Weel then, why would ye wanta chew on it, if ye dinna eat it?”

 

“Just take my word for it. It’s soothing to chew the gum for awhile.”

 

“I’d rather chew on a nice leg o’ lamb, or—”

 

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a familiar face in the crowd. It was Strothers. I must’ve blanched, because Jamie stopped in the middle of a sentence, and grasped my hand. Pulling him along, I ducked out the back exit, hastening our journey to the coach stop.

 

Walking quickly, I asked Jamie, “Did you see him?”

 

“Aye. Yer face went white as the full moon, and when I looked where ye cast yer eyes, I saw the man. I dinna ken as he _saw_ us, tho’.”

 

My heart was pounding, clear up into my throat. “I hope to bloody hell he didn’t. I don’t fancy spending another night in the clink.”

 

We got to the stop, and no one seemed to be following us, so I calmed a bit. Perhaps he hadn’t seen us after all, but I couldn’t be certain. Then, the thought occurred to me, how many freakishly tall, curly, red-headed men roamed about Inverness? Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ—I had to do something about his hair; the height was another problem entirely, an utterly unsolvable one.

 

While riding in the coach, I was able to relax, and when we arrived at the cottage, not wanting the blasted appearance of that man ruin the rest of a great evening, I asked Jamie, “Well, Scotty, what did you think of the movie?”

 

We walked together through the front door as he answered, “I liked it fine, except o’ course, for the parts as scandalized me. Yer era is a corruptin’ influence on my youth if truth be told. That woman was verra forward.”

 

“I’m fairly forward myself, and you don’t seem to mind it.”

 

“Ye’re marrit to me, Sassenach. Ye’re supposed to be forward, and I like the way o’ it, aye?”

 

Teasing him, I cocked one eyebrow and saucily commented, “You do, huh?”

 

His face showed no emotion whatsoever as he deadpanned, “It’s an inscrutable fact, Lass.”

 

Mincing seductively, I intruded into his personal space, and purred, “Well then, I guess I’ll be getting forward again, Scotty.”

 

He pulled me tightly to his chest and grinned impishly. “Good.”

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

A/N: _It Happened One Night_ was actually a Columbia picture, not MGM. I took poetic license because I thought the sight of the MGM lion would be a more dramatic experience for our naïve Highlander.

 

 


	17. Frank-Incensed

 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander     Banner by LOS 

**. . . . .**

 

Dawn brought a surprise. Jamie rose early, and the next thing I knew, stamping and snorting commenced outside my window. I heard a rap on the glass. I opened one bleary eye, and there was my lover’s face staring through the pane, grinning like a fool. How could anyone possibly be that cheerful so early in the morning?

 

“Wake up, Sassenach,” he brayed. “It’s a fine day for a ride. Come wi’ me, aye? I brought ye _Sally Forth_ ; a gentle wee beast, she is, and _Bub_ for me. Hurry, now—get dressed. _Druit!_ ”

 

It _was_ , as Jamie touted, _a fine day_ , and it was lovely to be astride an animal as beautiful as _Sally_ once more _._ I was curious about the horses, and asked, “Won’t MacGregor be upset when he finds you up and absconded with his prize animals?”

 

“Nay, he said I could borrow them anytime I fancied. He willna admit it, but Mairi told me as he thinks on me as a son. Isna that so, _Bub_?” He patted the horse’s neck, affectionately, as the beast nickered in contentment.

 

We rode in silence for quite some time, listening to the birds calling one another and the leaves rustling faintly overhead.

 

Watching my highlander handling his sorrel with skillful mastery, I asked the inevitable, “You miss Trom Laighe, don’t you?”

 

Nodding, he replied, “Aye. He was a grand piece o’ horseflesh, and none can compare wi’ him, ye ken. I expect I’m spoilt for havin’ that fine animal. I can search high and low, and ne’er find one such as he was.”

 

“You know, you never did tell me what Trom Laighe means in English. Can you translate it for me?”  


“Aye, it’s easy enough, but dinna laugh. It means … Nightmare.”

 

“Oh, I understand, now. Trom is a stallion.”

 

“Oh, aye he is, for certain. I named him when I was but a wee laddie, and dinna ken as the horse wasna a mare. Ever’one laughed, yet the name stuck, and for’ermore, he was Trom Laighe.”

 

“He _is_ black as night and scary as a night terror. I think it suits him.”

 

Jamie lit up the sky with a broad smile. “I expect ye’re right, Sassenach.”

**. . . . .**

 

Jamie seemed to know this terrain well, and soon we were trotting right onto MacGregor’s property. I’d never actually set foot on the place, and it struck me that Jamie hadn’t visited the clinic where I worked either. I suppose we were being cautious in not being seen together. After the near miss of running into Strothers last evening, perhaps that was something we would have to continue if we wished to avoid the bloody police.

 

My man gave me a tour of the farm after watering the horses. We swept through the apple and peach orchards, and I got a glimpse of the vegetable beds and newly seeded alfalfa field. One thing was noticeably absent—that notorious grump, Macgregor. The truck was gone.

 

“He’s most probably visitin’ the pub.”  Jamie pivoted his head, looking around at his whereabouts. “Weel, I guess it’s the whole o’ it, then. I expect we should head back now.”

 

On the way home, an airplane flew overhead. I smiled at Jamie as he looked up at the silver bird without jerking in the saddle. The novelty had worn off after all this time, but I felt a little sad at his reaction. It was almost like a child at Christmas time, no longer waiting up at night, since he’d been told that Father Christmas was but a fairytale.

 

**. . . . .**

 

It was amazing how many miles were shaved off the route, simply by traveling through the woodlands. We arrived home, invigorated by the fresh air, and cheery romp, ready to partake of some breakfast.

 

In the afternoon, I went through the highboy in the bedroom and got out my small container of jewelry. I found the locket my sister-in-law had given me years ago. Sitting on the mattress, I removed the pictures of Frank and myself and proceeded to snip out our likenesses from the new photographs, replacing the old ones.

 

Jamie waltzed into the bedroom, carrying another history of Scotland that Hannah had left behind for him. “What are ye doin’ Claire?”

 

“I’m making a keepsake.” I opened the locket and dropped it into his palm. He peered back and forth at the photos, in awe. The smile on his face was assurance that he liked what he saw.”

 

“And ye’ll wear this ’bout yer throat?”

 

I looked up at the towering mass from the edge of the cot where I was perched, shaking my head slowly. “Always …” I murmured.

 

He put the book he was holding down beside me, and with his hands on my shoulders, turned my torso away from him, and clasped the necklace around my neck, nuzzling the hair at my nape. When he finished, he fingered the locket, and with eyes shining brightly, simply said, “I love ye, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Fraser.”

 

Tenderness filled my heart at hearing those precious words. “And I love you, James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser.”  

 

I sighed, and my gaze fell upon the book laying there, breaking my reverie. “Was there something you wished to show me?”

 

He sat, and opened to a page in the middle of the tome, pointing to an illustration. “Oh … aye. Look here, Sassenach.”

 

It was Lallybroch, or more correctly, what remained of the once proud structure. The tower and two crumbling walls were the only remnants of Jamie’s home. I felt sick inside, but not nearly as sick as Jamie was probably feeling.

 

I grasped his hand, kissing each of his knuckles one by one. “I’m so sorry, Jamie.”

 

“Isna yer fault, Sassenach. It was the spoils o’ war. What’s doon is doon, whether we like it or no.”

 

“I hate what war has _done_ in my time … in your time … in any time.” 

 

With a wink, he teased, “Ah, so it seems ye’re a verra con-she-en-shus objector as weel, aye?”

 

“I most certainly am!”

**. . . . .**

 

Monday came and I was back at work. Sometime during the afternoon, I was coming round a corner, when I stopped at overhearing the mention of Jamie’s name. I shamefully admit that I eavesdropped on the conversation. In hindsight, I wished I had gone the other way and ignored their vicious gossip.

 

Ellen was talking to the receptionist, Margaret. “It was the strangest thin’, Maggie. He was a tall, strappin’ young lad and good lookin’ I expect, but dim as a burned out bulb. I dinna think he understood half o’ what we said. What does she see in him?”

 

Margaret responded, “Maybe she likes them big and stupid. Easier to train, aye?

 

“Or maybe he’s right smart when it comes to pleasin’ a woman in bed.” They both giggled at that crass remark.

 

“And ye shouldha seen that hair. He looked like a ginger-headed Medusa.”

 

I’d heard enough by this time. Hell would freeze over before Jamie and I ever attended one of their many, social fêtes. I walked quietly back to my office and waited until I could compose myself, then continued on to my previous destination.

 

**. . . . .**

 

Before I left for the day, Hannah phoned me. “Claire, I'm sorry to bother ye at work, but my cousin had to go outta town, and asked me to pick op the rent. May I come by this eve?”

 

“Of course, Hannah. You know you’re always welcome.”

 

Hannah had been coming to the cottage on a regular basis, at least twice a week. I imagine she was lonesome for company since the vicar was anything but. The man was a voracious historian, with his nose constantly inserted in the voluminous tomes of genealogy records when he wasn’t writing or preaching a sermon—that … or gadding about visiting with parishioners.

 

“Seven, then?”

 

“Seven it is.”

 

**. . . . .**

On the following evening, Jamie and I were startled by the sound of brakes squealing out in the driveway. Moments later, Hannah, looking disheveled and skittish as a frightened doe, stood on our doorstep.

 

Opening the door wider, I motioned for her to enter. “Come in, come in.”

 

Her face was so pale, it worried me. She sat on the settee, wringing her hands.

 

I sat down beside her. “Hannah, whatever is the matter?”

 

“Ye both need to leave at once. The reverend overheard me talkin’ to ye ’bout the rent. He followed me here last night. I swear I didna know ’til just a while ago. He argued with me, sayin’ I had no right to interfere in yer marriage, and I was aidin’ ye in livin’ in a state o’ sin wi’ the Scotsman. He phoned Professor Randall and told him where ye’re residin’. So, ye see—ye’ve gotta go, and quickly.”

 

Jamie brought her some hot tea, to calm her, but the cup quaked in her hand; she was shaking so. Speaking directly to me, she said, “I hadta wait ’til I finished the cleanin’ o’ the supper dishes, then drove straighaway over here. I dinna know what’s worse, havin’ yer Frank find ye, or the police.

 

“Can ye pack op now? I’ll be glad to stay whilst ye do that, and drive ye somewhere when ye’re doon.”

 

“Hannah, no. You’ve done enough for us. I don’t want you to get any more involved in this debacle than you already have. Perhaps, there is one thing you can do, however. Can you let them know at the clinic and the farm that we were forced to move elsewhere suddenly, and forgo our employment?”

 

“Aye. I’d be glad to.”

 

“Thank you, Hannah, for all the help you’ve given us thus far.”

 

She put down her teacup, and stood, walking toward me. Throwing her arms about my shoulders, she embraced me heartily. “Alright then. Good luck to ye.”

 

Hannah turned to my Scotty, and with tears in her eyes, said, “Jamie—a pleasure it was to know ye.”

 

“And ye as weel, Hannah.” He gave her a hug, and a kiss on the cheek. “Hope to see ye agin, if no here, then for certain in the _hereafter_.”

 

**. . . . .**

We hurried about, throwing our belongings into pillow slips and my one lone carryall. When I came upon my corset and skirt, I got struck with an epiphany. Truthfully, was there anything left here for me, aside from my job at the clinic? I actually had more important work at Leoch. In addition, Jamie still had a difficult, if not insuperable time of trying to fit in with the society of my era. The brush with Ellen at the theater proved it. At that moment, I was determined—we would return to his time, traveling through the stones once more.

 

It was crystal clear to me now that there was as little safety for us here, as in 1743. At least Jamie had his family to shield us from the adversary. If we could only make it to Craig na Dun ...

 

I picked up my corset and yelled to Jamie, “Help me with these laces. You—get in your kilt when it’s done.”

 

“What?”

 

“Just trust me. Do it!”

 

Jamie laced up my bodice and donned his kilt. I quickly helped him with his broadsword and the buckles of the bandoleer. Nearly ready to head for the door, we heard the gravel crunch beneath the wheels of a car. Too late!

 

Frank came bursting through the door, brandishing a gun. I still had my Luger, but unfortunately, it was unloaded.

 

The atmosphere in the room crackled with energy, and the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. No one moved in the following tense seconds. The silence was ultimately broken when Frank, wearing an ugly sneer, spouted, “Did you think me a fool? That I’d give up that easily?”

 

He waved the weapon at us in a menacing manner; a smug look upon his face.

 

I pleaded with the man, but it fell on deaf ears. “Frank … you loved me once. Please, let us go.”

 

Frank huffed in disdain. “Let you go? Nonsense ...”

 

He aimed an icy glare at Jamie. “And you—you Scotch bastard. I’ll enjoy putting a bullet into you. I even have a perfectly rational explanation at hand should the police ask how it happened: ‘Officer, we struggled, and the gun went off. It was an accident _._ ’ Think of it as repayment for my suffering and heartache.”

 

He gestured toward me. “As for this deceitful whore, she can hike up her skirts to service the prison guards. Knowing what a rutting trollop she is, she’ll probably wear them out.”

 

Jamie was bristling by this point, and drawing his claymore, charged at him, yelling, “Tùlach àrd!”


	18. Back ... In Time

 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander         Banner by LOS 

**. . . . .**

“Jamie—don’t!” I shrieked. My scream was a futile warning, as my Scotsman had already lunged at Frank.

My imperiously … impervious, ex-husband was caught off guard by the sound of my warrior’s shout. He found himself suddenly pressed flat against the wall, eyes wide with fright, and toe to toe with a very ferocious Highland soldier. The gun was wrenched from his grasp and thrown aside, crashing it to the floor. In an instant, the tip of Jamie’s broadsword was at Frank’s throat.

 

Hissing through clenched teeth, Jamie admonished, “I told ye afore, no to be speakin’ to my wife in such a manner. I’ll no tell ye agin. And if ye e’er threaten her … e’en once, I’ll kill ye as soon as look at ye.

 

“So, here’s the thin’ … ye’ll let us go, aye? And ye’ll no follow us if ye have any value on yer life. D’ye ken my meanin’?”

 

Frank hesitated, much to his own disadvantage. In response, Jamie pushed the edge of the blade deeper into the skin on his neck.

 

“I asked ye plain enough; d’ye ken my meanin’?” 

 

“Yes—yes. I don’t think I have much choice,” he choked out.

 

“Weel said. Anaways it’s the only choice ye’ll be makin’ in this life, aye?”

 

My Scotsman jerked his head in my direction, and ordered, “Take his pistol, Lass.”

 

Scooping it up, I removed all the bullets and scattered them about the room.

 

With one arm wound about his shoulder, and the other still holding the blade under Frank’s chin, Jamie shoved him forward, seating him in a chair.

 

Jamie’s eyes caught mine. “Claire, can ye bring me a good length o’ rope?”

 

**# # # # #**

After tyin’ the bluidy bastard to the chair, I instructed him one more time. “I ne’er wish to lay eyes on ye agin. D’ye hear? No unless ye wanta be chopped op as dog kibble.”

 

I stood over him, and spat at his feet, then reaching for my woman, said, “Let’s be on our way.”

 

“Just one moment.” Sassenach walked over to Frank, and with the flat of her hand, slapped his face so hard it left her palm print on his cheek. “That’s for all the misery you’ve caused us, Frank Randall. I want you out of my life for good.”

 

The noise o’ sirens filled the air, addin’ all the more urgency to our flight.

 

“Druit!” I yelled to Claire.

 

We bolted from the cottage, headin’ thru the woods to MacGregor’s place. The police couldna trail after us in their vehicles and nay a one kent these woods as weel as I kent it.

 

We ran ’til I thought our verra lungs would burst wi’ the strain. It was truly a gift from God when the stable at the farm came into view. I pulled my Sassenach along and entered _Bub’s_ stall, saddlin’ the animal op for a moonlight ride o’ sorts, wi’ no notion o’ where we were headed. I left that bit op to Claire. And so, wi’ _Sally_ and _Bub_ ready to mount, we took the horses by their bridles, and walked the animals outta the stable and rode them into the night.

 

**# # # # #**

 

We were galloping along at a fast clip when I spurred my horse on and raced ahead. Jamie reined his animal about and shouted, “Sassenach, where in god’s name are we goin’?”

 

I halted _Sally_ for a second, and whipping her around to face him, pointed behind me, yelling, “You can see the stones from here.”

 

“What are ye thinkin’, woman?”

 

“I’m thinking that we can’t stay here any longer.”

 

“Ye mean … go back to my time?”

 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. Now, come along Scotty, they’re still searching for us … the bloody hounds.”

 

“Claire, wait!”

 

I realized he would have something to say about my decision, only I wasn’t willing to listen since I could still hear the police sirens blaring in the distance. I urged _Sally_ forward again; there wasn’t a moment to spare.

 

**# # # # #**

I couldna stop my feisty Sassenach once she set her mind to a task. _Sally_ was a tad faster than _Bub_ , and what wi’ a lass no more than nine stone on her back, left us eatin’ the dirt clods and such as she stirred op. _Bub_ was a good deal bigger, but wi’ my sixteen stone in the saddle … weel, ye can see the trouble, aye?

 

We kept off the road, a fair distance from any vehicles as should be comin’ our way. It was dark enough so as the police wouldna be able to spot us through the trees. I saw Claire, a full length ahead o’ us at the foot o’ Craigh na Dun, and my heart sank into my verra boots. _Bub_ and I followed her op to the crest o’ the hill, by the great rock tower as set us down in this time just a few months afore.

 

Draggin’ myself to the base o’ the stone, I took Claire’s hand and whirled her to meet my eyes.

 

“Sassenach … please. Dinna do this. I’m beggin’ ye.”

 

She shook her head. “I can see no other option. We have to face the facts. Frank is most persistent. He’ll dog us until the day of our deaths. There are no castle walls to protect us, no family to turn to for aid.

 

“You don’t belong here, Jamie, and it would be wrong of me to make you stay. I love you too much to impose that sentence upon you. You’ll be miserable, and I’d be as well, knowing I was the cause of it. Can’t you see that?”

 

“Aye. I ken as that’s the truth o’ it, but I’ll no leave if it means ye’ll no be comin’ wi’ me.”

 

Claire took my face in her hands, searchin’ my eyes. “You’re. Not. Listening. I said _we_ , not _you_. We’ll go together or not at all.”

 

Try as I might, I couldna get my tongue to form one wee syllable. I swallowed, and afore I did think a single thought, my lips seemed to have a mind o’ their own. My arms tightened ’bout her shoulders, and our lips scarcely touched, when in a fit o’ passion, I began to devour her. God in heaven, what that woman did to me.

 

She struggled, freeing herself from my iron embrace. “Hurry, we need to go!”

 

Coilin’ the reins o’er the pommel o’ both steeds, I then rubbed my hand o’er _Bub’s_ withers, murmurin’, “There’s a good lad.” I slapped his rump, and yelled, “Home wi’ ye, _Bub_! And take _Sally_ wi’ ye, aye?”

 

The horses cantered down the hill, on their way back to the farm, and I walked to my Sassenach, reachin’ for her. She gripped my hand and with the other, placed it on the rock-face. With a hum and a billowin’ o’ the wind, we slipped back to the time o’ my own.

 

**. . . . .**

 

My heid felt like I had a wee bit too much o’ the whiskey when I came to my senses. I sat op, in a panic, flailin’ ’bout, searchin’ for my woman. I spotted her right off. She was lyin’ on the ground, an arm’s length away from me, wi’ her eyes still shut. I wondered; did her heid feel as it was kicked by a mule, much as mine?

 

I scooted closer, and she groaned when I touched her.

 

Whisperin’, so as no to make the ache in her heid ana worse, I said, “Are we back yet, d’ye think?”

 

For a few minutes, I waited for her eyes to peek out from under closed lids.

 

“Oh … Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.” Claire covered her brow with one hand. “I certainly hope so. I don’t wish to do that ever again. My head feels like a lorry ran over it.”

 

With a concerted effort, I stood, looking down at her. “A lorry …” 

 

“Never mind,” she grumbled. Glancin’ op at me, she urged, “Since you’re already standing there, look and see if there are any telephone poles about.”

 

I twisted my neck this way and that. “Nay … no a one, as I can see anaways.”

 

“Thank god.”

 

“Can ye walk, or no?”

 

“I have no idea; I’ll try.”

 

I offered my hand, and she stood, wobbly as a new-bairn colt. My arms heaved her op, and hers snaked around my neck to prevent her fallin’.

 

“Here … I’ll carry ye down the hill, to the auld shack. I suppose it’s standin’ there still.”

 

 

**# # # # #**

The inside of the deserted hovel looked much the same as the last time we visited. Lovely … Jamie gently lowered me onto the dusty cot and squeezed his massive body in beside me.

 

“Close yer eyes agin, Sassenach. Ye must be knackered. I ken as I am. We can both do wi’ a bit o’ sleep, aye?”

 

The invitation wasn’t needed in the least since I drifted off the moment I felt his warm body snuggled against mine.

 

The next dawn brought us another fine day; an exceptional turn in the weather—Scotland usually being a wet and windy place. It was lucky for us, as we were doomed to hoof it on foot clear to Leoch. With no food, nor horses, it would take quite a while, yet I was lighthearted and happy. My regrets at coming here unintentionally the first time were a thing of the past. Jamie and I could live out our days, free from the dark, overshadowing cloud that was my former husband.

 

Along the way, we stopped at several inns, to eat, and to rest at night; Jamie paying with the coins left in his sporran. Thankfully, I had enough foresight to get them back from MacNab at the pawn shop. I shuddered to think what would’ve happened if I’d left them there. Archeologists would no doubt find our dry bones, buried by the roadside 200 years from now. Dead of starvation would be their conjecture, and correctly so.

 

Three days had passed since our miraculous return through time. On the fourth morning, we were once again traveling on the road, when a large black horse with a rider—clad in a kilt of the red and black Fraser plaid—rode into view. The horse halted not ten feet away from us. The rider suddenly shouted, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Where ye been all this time, Lad? We’ve searched high and low for ye. It was if ye op and vanished from off this verra earth.”

 

Jamie and I glanced at each other knowingly. Where had we been all this time, indeed? If only Murtagh knew. The question was not _where ye been_ … but when.

 

Murtagh slid down from the saddle and strode toward us. He clasped his cousin in a bear hug, pounding him on the back. He came to me as well, and did the same, albeit a bit more gently.

 

The horse trotted forward, and with his muzzle, rubbed it up and down Jamie’s torso, nickering all the while.

 

Jamie stroked the stallion behind the ears, smiled at his cousin, and said, “So, I see ye been takin’ good care o’ my horse, aye?”

 

Murtagh stuttered and stammered, his face flushing in an alarming fashion. “Uh … he needed the exercise, ye ken. I couldna wish the poor animal to get all fat and lazy afore ye returned to claim the beast, now could I?”

 

“I suppose as it sounds reasonable. I wouldna suggest as you’d be tryin’ to wrest him away from me.”

 

“Och … no … I would ne’er presume to steal yer horse. He’s all yers.”

 

“Weel then, I’ll set Claire in the saddle, and ye can catch me op on all the goin’s on at Leoch, while we walk on ahead.

 

Jamie aided me onto Trom Laighe’s back, and we were off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	19. Homecoming

 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander     Banner by LOS

**. . . . .**

Castle Leoch loomed before us, and I heaved a sigh of relief. Home sweet home as the saying goes. Mrs. Fitzgibbons rushed out to greet us, and with an arm about my shoulders, began escorting me into the hall. Jamie stayed behind in the courtyard to walk his favorite animal to the stables, I suppose. He and Murtagh were still busy _chatting each other up_. It was so good to see Jamie able to fraternize with someone on his own level once more.

 

After retiring to our room for awhile, I sought out my surgery. It was a comforting feeling to be surrounded by my herbs and bottled tinctures; the cloying fragrances of lavender, bergamot and anise seed a welcome reminder of home. I was surprised at how much I’d actually missed this place and the work I had done here.

 

Dinner was held in a boisterous atmosphere, with all our acquaintances and Jamie’s kin welcoming us back to Leoch. Thankfully, no one pried, asking us where we had gone, although I did notice Rupert giving Jamie a sly wink and a light nudge to the shoulder. I imagine they assumed we’d been on an extended honeymoon. Lucky for us that it was a plausible explanation for our absence.

 

Jamie and I dispensed with loitering in the banquet hall afterwards. We were exhausted, and just wanted the oblivion of sleep. In a hurry to meet up with the Sandman, I asked my Scotty to help extricate me from my voluminous skirts, and tight corset.

 

As he methodically pulled each lace from its eyelet, he began to snicker.

 

I looked over my shoulder to see what he was going on about. “What’s so funny, mister.”

 

“I was just thinkin’ as I wished we had zippers in this, my time.”

 

Sighing, I thought, _only zippers?_ I’d be perfectly content just to have hot water on tap.

 

**# # # # #**

I’d havta admit as I’d gotten used to removin’ our clothes a might faster. I had my Sassenach stripped and bedded in the blink o’ an eye in her era. Ah, weel … leastways, I still had her to bed, and for that I was verra thankful.

 

We were both feelin’ knackered, and so we didna skulk ’bout the hall, but straightaway trudged op the stairweel to our suite. After I helped her wi’ all the lacin’s and such, I did undress myself and tumbled into bed. My eyes didna open ’til chanticleer crowed the next morn.

 

Claire was sleepin’ still, as I rose from the bed to see to the fireplace. The remainin’ embers flamed op quickly wi’ added kindlin’. I stacked more wood on the hearth, and the cracklin’ o’ the blaze woke my wife op.

Her hair was mussed, all the wild tresses curlin’ ’bout her face, and fallin’ into her eyes, just the way I liked it. When Claire looked thataway, it was a reminder as she was mine, and she was awakenin’ in my bed; just recently bein’ in my arms. My heart turned to parritch at the verra sight o’ her. I wished for nothin’ more than to return to bed, and hold her agin, but alas, we had work to do. Auld Alec told me last evenin’ as he had need o’ me in the stables, and Claire, to be sure would take op her proper position seein’ to the sick and afflicted.

 

And so … Claire and I ate our breakfast, then I went off to the stables and Sassenach to her vials and numerous potions.

 

# # # # #

 

I fell back into the routine of resident _Beaton_ so naturally, it seemed as if I had never left. Of course, the patient census had increased substantially that initial day since there was no one to fill my shoes in the interim. It was busy—but a _good_ busy, and I found myself engulfed in enjoyment and satisfaction, up until a small boy I was examining took it upon himself to release the contents of his morning meal on my skirt. Bloody hell. I finished up, prescribing ginger tea for the little tyke. When he and his mother left, I decided to take a short break to change out of my soiled garment.

 

Swinging the door open to our room, I caught Jamie scooping up what looked like rectangular scraps of paper from the surface of the mattress, and quickly shoving them into his sporran.

 

Ah-ha. He was obviously startled by my unexpected entrance and was furiously gathering up whatever it was that he didn’t want me to see. I gave him the eye, and asked, “What have you got there, Jamie? Are you trying to hide something?”

 

He wasn’t quick enough, and my eyes darted to one left on the blanket. I picked it up before he could stop me. The paper square was actually a photograph of our cottage. It all became clear to me. Jamie couldn’t part with the memories and must’ve purloined them in our hasty retreat to the Craigh.

 

“Oh, Jamie … You kept the photos?”

 

He nodded, guiltily. “Aye. I couldna bear to leave them behind.”

 

“You realize, of course, the explaining you’ll have to do if someone finds these.”

 

“Then they best no be stickin’ their hands in my sporran, or they’ll be comin’ op missin’ a few fingers.” Pointing at my throat, he accused, “Anaways, I see as ye’re wearin’ the locket.”

 

“Yes, but I doubt that the people here would be blatant enough to reach out and _fondle_ it.”

 

“Ye dinna ken Dougal then, d’ye?”

 

I fingered the silver pendant, nervously. “He wouldn’t dare!”

 

“Oh, I think as maybe he might. That wee bauble will give him a right excuse to get close to ye. He fancies ye … ye ken.”

 

That was no secret to me, after our little tête à tête the night of the oath-taking. “So it would seem.”

 

Rolling my eyes about, I huffed, “All right, I’ll slip the bloody thing under my bodice where he won’t notice it.”

 

“Good.”

 

“In the meantime, don’t ever let that sporran out of your sight.”

 

With his right hand over his heart, he swore, “On my mother’s grave, I give ye my word.”

 

**# # # # #**

 

Whilst at dinner, Claire meted out a portion o’ whiskey in each o’ our tumblers. That brought to my mind, memories o’ _The Macallan_. As the liquid pooled on my tongue, I noted the difference in the flavor: it paled in comparison. My thoughts turned to the cottage, and all the modern inventions, but especially our privacy. I wondered if we couldna have escaped the police and Frank, and lived peaceably in 1945. I wondered if my Sassenach missed it, as weel.

 

Dougal sat aways from us, lookin’ at me wi’ eyes o’ a hawk. I didna think as he could e’er envision what was dancin’ in my head tho’. And that’s when the _Moonlight Serenade_ began to play round and round, fillin’ my brain with the sweet music of another time.

 

**# # # # #**

 

That night, Jamie kept tossing and turning beside me. It was unusual for him to be so restless during the late hours. I felt the mattress shift as Jamie sat up and ultimately stood.  At the time, I imagined that he had intestinal trouble, seeing as his diet had changed so drastically and so, was only in the process of filling the chamber pot. Hearing his bare feet slap against the stones of the floor, I opened my eyes and saw his silhouette outlined as he peered out the window.

 

I waited a few minutes, and when he didn’t return to bed, I came up behind him. Snaking my arms around my big Scotsman, I lay my head upon the slope of his shoulder. “Can’t sleep?”

 

“Nay … a bit on my mind, ye might say.”

 

“I’d say _more_ than a bit, Scotty. Would you like to talk about it? Might make you feel better. It’s always good to talk.”

 

He turned part way to face me, his eyes glinting in the moon’s glow. “Weel … I … that is … Stars and stones, I’ll just come out wi’ it then. I’m worrit as ye’ve regretted comin’ here, and ye’ll no be happy. There are nay damn toasters, nor radios, nor metal beasties as fly in the air, nor e’en water pourin’ from a spigot. I’m afeared as ye’re missin’ those thin’s. And ye gave it all op just to be wi’ me. I canna believe as I’m worth as much as all that. I want ye to be happy, Sassenach; but how can ye be … knowin’ what ye left behind?”

 

“Not this blasted conversation again. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! You stubborn Scotsman. You sound like a broken record.”

 

“Meanin’?”

 

“Meaning … A scratched record won’t play the music correctly. It keeps repeating the same bar over and over. And that’s exactly what you’re doing. I’ve heard all this before.

 

“Didn’t you believe me the first time? I don’t miss any of those _things_. They’re _things_ , Jamie, and things don’t matter. People matter. I love you, and I willingly came back here.

 

“And furthermore, wherever can I find another man that can wield a broadsword without so much as straining a muscle, or look dashing in a plaid skirt?”

 

I detected a slight curling at the edges of his lips as he replied, “Isna a skirt, Sassenach. It’s a kilt.”

 

“That’s right. And I love seeing you in one.

 

“Oh, Jamie …these people need me—you need me. That’s what makes life worth living, being needed. Frank didn’t need me anymore, and I’m free of him now, and free to be with you. And you are so wrong, because I _am_ happy … or at least I was, until you bloody well started blathering away about nonsense. Now stop being an idiot, and come back to bed—my feet are cold.”

 

Jamie whipped around, a smirk suddenly appearing on his previously grim countenance. He nodded, and mischief seemed to abound, twinkling in his eyes. “Cold, are ye? I expect as I should warm ye op a bit.”

 

I shrieked as he hefted me in his arms, and plunked me onto the bed. Scurrying under the covers, he proceeded to lift away my shift, and set about sharing his heat—among other things—warming me, as only he could.

 

**. . . . .**

Yawning and stretching the following morning, I then lay back, drinking in a long, lingering gaze at Jamie. He was in a peaceful repose, his lips slightly parted, his Titian curls raking his forehead, the tips of his eyelashes nearly blonde at the edges. Silly man, why would I come back through time, if I didn’t have reason to? He should’ve known better than that. I wouldn’t do anything unless I was totally committed. And looking at that sweet Scotsman, I knew in my heart, I had made the right decision.

 

My respite was cut short abruptly, with a thumping at our door. The braying of Dougal rang out, “There’s nay time for ye to be sleepin’ away the mornin’, Jamie. Now, leave go o’ yer woman, and get in yer kilt. Alec is awaitin’ ye in the stable.”

 

Jamie, so rudely awakened, rolled his eyes, and huffed. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’.” Grumbling, he added, “Ye’d think the world would come to its end if Auld Alec had to wait a wee tick for my help.”

 

He hurriedly donned his clothes and pulled on his boots. When he got to the door, I waved, and said, “I’ll stop by with some breakfast for you.”

 

“Thank ye, Claire.”

 

I watched as he hesitated in the doorway. Then all at once, he strode across the room, pouncing on the bed, and suffocated me with kisses.

 

“Ne’er be it said, as Jamie Fraser neglected to kiss his bride goodbye on his way to a day o’ work.”

 

“Never,” I replied, smiling at my Scotty.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	20. Isle of Dreams

  

 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander        Banner by LOS 

**. . . . .**

Things fell into a comfortable routine at the castle, until one day, Dougal came by while Jamie and I were lunching in the stable. With his brows knit together, the bumptious man spat, “Eat op, Lad. Colum wishes to have a word wi’ ye.” _What now?_

 

Standing, Jamie brushed away the bits of straw clinging to his kilt. “Weel, what does he want wi’ me?”

 

Our impatient messenger frowned, and huffed, “If I kent what my brother wanted, then why would I need to send ye to talk to the man, aye?” Dougal turned and strode out of the stable, grumbling under his breath.

 

Maybe the matter had to do with something rather trivial, or just nothing at all, but it still made my heart beat faster.

 

Jamie grabbed the last of his food off the blanket that was laid out, then leaned toward me. “It’s all right, Sassenach. If it was somethin’ I did as was wrong, he’d no send Dougal to be tellin’ me, but havin’ me dragged to his study under guard, I expect.

 

**# # # # #**

In spite o’ what I said to Claire, I was shakin’ in my verra boots when I rapped my knuckles opon my Laird’s door. What could he possibly wanta talk to me ’bout?

 

Colum’s voice came from inside the room, “Ye needna stand on ceremony, Lad. Come in; I was expectin’ ye.”

 

My uncle gestured to me and bade me sit down. “Ye dinna be worrit, Jamie. I’m no here to chastise ye, on the contrary, I’m in need o’ yer help.”

 

“Help, ye say?”

 

“Aye. Ye’ve heard me speak o’ Letitia’s brother, Robert. Weel … he’s in a bad way wi’ the dropsy.  I’d count it a blessin’ if ye and the missus would go on op to the Isle o’ Lewis and stay in the summer cottage there, as a favor to me. It’s just a bit down the road from Robert, ye ken.

 

“What wi’ Mistress Fraser bein’ a healer, perchance she could ease his sufferin’ somewhat. And I’d be most appreciative if ye could manage his place for him, as he canna do for himself.”

 

I nodded, relieved that Colum put his trust in me. “I’ll speak to Claire and see if she’s willin’ or no.”

 

“Whether she’s willin’?  God, man, yer wife has nary a say in this. It is my pleasure as ye both go.”

 

I stiffened at his harsh tone. “I suppose we’ll be goin’ then.”

 

His eyes bored into mine, wi’out so much as a blink. “Aye, ye will.”

 

**. . . . .**

“Why of course, I’ll go. Why wouldn’t I? It sounds as if Robert is suffering from congestive heart failure, and I have just the thing to assist him. The man certainly needs help, and if I can be of service then so be it.”

 

Pacin’ ’bout her surgery, I asked, “But what o’ yer work here?”

 

Claire broke off some dried digitalis leaves from a bunch hangin’ from the rafters and began grindin’ them to verra fine particles wi’ a mortal and pestle. “You’ve seen Elspeth and Kate. I’ve been training them off and on since our return. They can both read, and I’ve scribbled notes in a ledger for reference. If they get into trouble, they can always send for Geillis. I hear she’s very much alive. The rumor is that Dougal snatched her from off the scaffold. Heaven knows what that was all about, but I do have some theories.”

 

I was surprised as she would let that name fall from her lips. _Geillis!_ I sputtered, “Dinna mention that woman’s name in my presence.”

 

She ne’er looked op at me but continued crushin’ the leaves o’ the foxglove in the mortar. “Oh, Jamie ... let bygones be bygones. It wasn’t her fault that we were both accused of witchcraft. I was in the wrong place at the right time for her enemies to nab me. If anyone is to blame it’s that bloody Father Bain. He hates me for besting him in healing that poor child. It was my word against his. He felt the _miracle_ was of the devil—superstitious old fool.”

 

Claire placed the pestle on the work table and pointed across to the far wall. “Can you please hand me the small tin in front of that cabinet?”

 

“Aye.”

 

I crossed the room, and pickin’ op the wee container, returned to Claire, puttin’ it into her outstretched hand. She smiled at me, and poured the contents o’ the mortar into the tin, then brushed the remainin’ powder from her fingertips. After washin’ the poison off her hands in a thorough manner, she turned to me, and said, “I’m all done here. Shall we go see what Fitz has drummed up for dinner?”

 

 

**# # # # #**

I hoped I had enough digitalis to administer to Leticia’s brother, along with a compound tincture of mugwort and horsetail. At any rate, there was bound to be an apothecary shop nearby in the event that my stores became depleted. In the meantime, I had three days to impart my knowledge to my apt pupils, as we were due to leave on Saturday.

 

Murtagh and Rupert helped us load a wagon with provisions, and our belongings the night prior to our departure.  Bright and early on the appointed date, we were off to the Isle of Lewis with our two faithful guards tagging along as added insurance against unforeseen attacks from the watch, or any redcoats scouting the area.

 

Our gaggle of Highlanders traveled unmolested, taking a roundabout means through forest trails until we came to the coast. When we boarded the boat we chartered to ferry us to our destination, Murtagh and Rupert hugged us and that’s where we parted company. They waved from atop their steeds, and curbed their horses, this time following the road back to Leoch.

 

Trom Laighe was skittish below deck. The poor beast had never been on an undulating surface before. Brimstone, though, seemed to be content enough, or at least wasn’t as restless as her counterpart. I wondered, do horses get seasick? As for Jamie, he did indeed. When he wasn’t vomiting over the side, he was retching with dry heaves. His face was a mask of a greenish hue, and despite the cool temperature, glistened with a sheen of perspiration across his brow. Thank goodness, the trip would last only eighteen hours or so.

 

I got him to sip on some hot water in which I mixed with a bit of ginger root that evening and the subsequent day. He was feeling less nauseated by the time we reached the port at the Isle of Lewis and had no trouble unloading the vessel.

 

**# # # # #**

The cap’n directed us to a cartwright, where I paid for a wagon wi’ the money Colum had given me to finance the trip. Claire stayed behind at the dock to watch o’er our possessions. I didna fancy havin’ my belongin’s snatched away from the likes o’ some light-fingered thief. Anaways, it didna take me verra long, and so, I had the animals yoked and pullin’ the cart in no time atall.

 

The proprietor o’ the cartwright shop drew me a map so I could find Colum’s summer cottage and the Cameron estate as weel. We found both easily enough. Our new home was bigger than the one we lived in near Inverness, wi’ land in the rear, a weel, a barn and a smokehouse.

 

**. . . . .**

 

It took a fair bit o’ doin’ to unload the wagon, and so, after Claire and I finished puttin’ op the lot o’ it, I tended to the horses, then my Sassenach and I went to an inn where we supped. On our return, the moon was already high op in the dark sky, and we tumbled into bed, slippin’ into a dream-state easy as ye please.

 

The next morn, I walked wi’ Claire to the Camerons’ home, to introduce my Uncle Robert to my wife. My aunt welcomed us into the house and gestured to a stuffed chair where sat my uncle, lookin’ a tad frail and sickly. He tried to stand, but I waved him off, and said, “No need to bother. I can see as ye’re too weak to get op.”

 

Wi’ my arm about Claire’s waist, I made the introductions, “This is my wife, Claire. Claire, this is my Uncle Robert Cameron, my Aunt Letitia’s brother, and by his side is my Aunt Eithne.

 

“Colum sent me to help ye with the animals and such. And Claire is a verra accomplished healer. I expect she’ll see to what ails ye.”

 

I turned to Claire, and told her, “I’ll leave ye to yer work then. I’ll be in the barn, feedin’ the pigs and cows.”

 

**# # # # #**

Just as I suspected, Jamie’s uncle exhibited symptoms of cardiac failure. The poor man was in such respiratory distress that he could not complete a single sentence without huffing and puffing. His countenance was a shocking ashen color, his thin brown hair hung limply about his face, and the light blue eyes had lost their sheen, now dull with exhaustion. Robert’s feet and legs were grossly swollen, so much so that he could not put on his work boots, or walk for any length of time, with or without shoes for that matter.

 

I listened to the man’s chest with a stethoscope that I commissioned a blacksmith to make for me months ago. What I wouldn’t give for a more state of the art model—but unfortunately, I was forced to use what was available in this time period. Actually, his chest was so congested that it wasn’t necessary to even implement the device. I could hear the gurgling rattle without it. He was literally drowning in his own pleural fluid.

 

It was with a great deal of regret that I was not proficient enough to tap his lungs, and thereby relieve the accumulation of the mounting fluid. As it was, I could only advise him and his wife to restrict the intake of salt in their diet, keep his legs and feet elevated and dose regularly with the digitalis leaf and diuretic tincture. Hopefully, the combination of this entire regime would remove the excess water his body was retaining.

 

Venturing to the place at intervals during the day, I administered the digitalis, thereby accomplishing a loading dose of the drug. By the end of that afternoon, Robert’s lungs had improved dramatically, and some of the swelling in his feet had decreased as well. I felt a surge of satisfaction when he smiled and thanked me for my care. Eithne stood by the chair, too overcome with emotion to speak.

 

When we returned to our own little cottage, Jamie, astounded by the dramatic recovery of his uncle, sputtered, “I do believe as ye might be a witch after all, but I love ye still.”

 

We ate our dinner by candlelight, and then Jamie asked, “Will ye come wi’ me for a wee bit? I’d like to look out o’er the cliffs, and share the view wi’ ye.”

**. . . . .**

The glow of the moon shone down on the softly waving swells of the ocean. As we gazed at the panoramic scene before us, Jamie took my hands. “Dance with me, Sassenach.”

 

“There’s no music, silly.”

 

“Aye, true enough.” He began to hum _Moonlight Serenade_. And there, in our own piece of heaven on earth, we danced to the music of our hearts.

 

The years slipped on by, and being on the Isle of Lewis, we were safe from the battle that raged in Scotland. We raised a family of our own little bairns … and love abounded forever after in the Fraser home.

 

**_The End_ **

**__ **

****

_“We learn the dance steps wi’ our minds, ye ken, but we hear the music wi’ our hearts. The dance steps o’ love are the things we do; the music o’ love is the joyful spiritual feelin’ as comes ’bout from bein’ t’gether.”_

_James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser_

**. . . . .**

 

A/N: _Highland Fling_ is on its way. Stay tuned!

 

Moonlight Serenade

I stand at your gate and the song that I sing is of moonlight  
I stand and I wait for the touch of your hand in the June night  
The roses are sighing a Moonlight Serenade

The stars are aglow and tonight how their light sets me dreaming  
My love, do you know that your eyes are like stars brightly beaming?  
I bring you and I sing you a moonlight serenade

Let us stray till break of day in love's valley of dreams  
Just you and I, a summer sky, a heavenly breeze kissin' the trees

So don't let me wait, come to me tenderly in the June night  
I stand at your gate and I sing you a song in the moonlight  
A love song, my darling, a moonlight serenade

 **SONGWRITERS**  
MILLER, GLENN / PARISH, MITCHELL

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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